


Anathema's Anchor

by Fluidfyre



Series: Rogue Element [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Female Protagonist, Humor, Moral Ambiguity, Other, Religious Conflict, Romance, Sarcasm, Sexual Content, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-27
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 78,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluidfyre/pseuds/Fluidfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wit and sarcasm amidst strife, suffering, and ethical paradox. Trying to stay still as the world changes around us, amidst impacts from our actions whose ramifications cannot be understood. From the battle of Ostagar onwards, moments in time from Marian Hawke's life - and those she loves and protects. With cameo's of Varric's version of the story. DA2 Spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of Ostagar

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILER WARNING: For Dragon Age 2. Bioware owns the Dragon Age franchise, and I just love the worlds they make.
> 
> A/N: Love Dragon Age 2 - almost as much as Mass Effect 2. How could I resist writing about it? I couldn't, and it's been pouring out. Hope you enjoy the story! I always welcome criticism/feedback, it means the world to me.

* * *

_Home is behind, the world ahead_

 _And there are many paths to tread_

 _Through shadow, to the edge of night_

 _Until the stars are all alight._

 _Mist and shadow, cloud and shade_

 _All shall fade,_

 _All shall fade!_

~ Lord of the Rings (Return of the King)

* * *

Blood spilt over her hands as Hawke's blade sunk deep, and the darkspawn screeched in protest, twitching before collapsing to the ground at her feet. They were overwhelmed, and her skin was numb from their unnatural blood as much as from the sleet pouring down. A panic rose in her chest as she kicked the hurlock to the ground, ignoring its dying gurgle. The darkspawn lay dead around her, and it seemed the horde was pressing south. As many of the bodies were King Cailan's soldiers though, the crests bloodied but visible on their arms.

"Carver!"

Another flash of fire sparked in the distance, a muted rumble following. Where had she seen him last? Darting over the bodies, she stopped to slit the odd stirring darkspawn, her eyes searching the battlefield. Fewer men were standing anymore. It was nearing dawn, and they had been all but abandoned. Teryn Loghain's army was nowhere in sight.

Hawke heard a gurgled cry from nearby, and she fled to the man's side. It was one of the Grey Wardens, she could only know for the griffon on his tabard. Thank the Maker it wasn't Carver.

"W – we're doomed," the man choked, twitching as he lay amidst the dead. He was pinned to the ground by the polearm through his midsection. "The.. the archdemon. It comes. We know."

"Hush," Hawke said, still looking over the fields as she knelt. The blade was clean through. There was no saving him.

The Warden's face contorted, blood on his lips as he gaped again, his eyes wide in the night, "It is lost."

"Find peace with the Maker," Hawke whispered, quickly drawing her blade over his throat. Ensuring he was dead, she got up. Her limbs quivered with exhaustion. "Carver!"

Straining in the weak light of pre-dawn, Hawke ran towards some distant movement. The blighted sky kept back any light, and she had to wipe the sleet from her eyes. There were fires burning to the south, and the air smelled of death, darkspawn taint, and defeat. There was a clot of darkspawn ahead, and she saw the whirr of steel – Hawke picked up her pace.

Launching into the flanking shrieks, Hawke's daggers sunk deep, and she spun to kick the monster away from her flagging brother. Carver cried out, stumbling as a genlock's arrow found him, and she ground her teeth to leap after it. She made quick work of the last darkspawn, standing panting as she ensured they were dead.

"Of course," Carver said with a scathing edge, even as he fell to a knee. "Couldn't just let me do it on my own. Surprised you didn't run off without me."

"What's that?" Hawke said, bracing him to snap the arrow off. "And risk mother's wrath when I go home without you? I think I'd rather die on a darkspawn blade."

Carver's shoulder hung down, and he surveyed the battleground, "We've lost. The signal never came. Where is the teryn's army?"

"I don't know," Hawke said, helping him up. "Can you move it?"

"Just fine, sister," Carver bit the words off. His skin was stained with blood and mud. "Where is the captain?"

"Well I saw his head over there," Hawke pointed left, and then right. "And I may have recognized his boot over there."

"Always so bloody funny," Carver said, pulling his greatsword out of the darkspawn at his feet.

"Bloody is certainly right," Hawke said with a sigh, shifting her weight as she motioned towards the Hinterlands. "I might have ruined my favourite jerkin."

"Be glad you're alive," he said, and they started walking.

"I am," Hawke amended, scanning the horizon. "And I'm glad you are too."

Carver shook his head, surveying the fields in the eerie quiet. In the distance the din of battle could be heard, but it was scarce, almost like a memory or something from the Fade. Few men struggled to stand, and the bulk of the horde was nowhere to be seen – the bulk of the army stained the land around them.

"It's lost isn't it," he said.

"This battle is lost," Hawke said, catching his arm as he slipped in the mud. "I don't know that there's anything else for us to do. Beyond killing any darkspawn we can."

Carver's expression tightened, and he looked at the weeping arrow wound in his arm, "We have to make it to Lothering. We can't stay here."

"There you are, dear brother," Hawke lightly said, looking up to him. "Finally thinking of something before I do – well, at least verbalizing it anyway."

"So very kind," Carver murmured, and he nodded to a clutch of darkspawn nearby. "I'll gloat when we're out of harm's way."

* * *

Hawke smacked the door open, stepping in from the darkness with Carver leaning heavily in her arm. The lone candle lit in the house fluttered with the breeze she brought in.

"Marian!" Leandra was soon on her feet from where she sat by the dying fire. "What are you doing here?"

"Stopping in for tea," Hawke said, breath laboured. "Where's Bethany?"

"Carver, my boy," Leandra said as she reached for him. He drew a struggled breath, and they helped him into a chair.

"Get Bethany, he's feverish," Hawke replied, stretching her shoulder. "He's a wound that needs tending."

"She's been helping at a camp on the outskirts of towne," Leandra said, putting a hand on Carver's forehead. "You need to cool him down, I'll find her."

Fetching water and a cloth as her mother dashed out the door, Hawke knelt beside her brother and wiped the grime from his face, "Come on you, can't let me make it out of this alone. Who will be there to make me look good if not for you?"

Carver woke at her voice, huffing a quiet laugh as he looked at her, "Where are we?"

"Home," Hawke said, pulling off the impromptu bandages on his arm. "Mother's getting Bethany."

The deep crease on his forehead relented, and he closed his eyes as Hawke continued to wash him. It almost seemed he lapsed into unconsciousness again, when he whispered, "It's all for lost."

"Hardly," Hawke replied, smiling thinly, "You've still got your looks, your muscles. I'm sure that buxom girl of yours will be equally swooned by scars."

Carver blushed, opening his eyes a bit more, "Wh-what? Were you spying on me?"

"I don't have to, dear brother," Hawke laughed, soaking the cloth again. "You tell me far too much on your own."

Shivering, Carver shook his head, shifting with some pain, "Not now… please, not now, Marian…"

"Alright," Hawke sighed, "But you owe me for it."

It was a while more before the door opened again, and Bethany hurried in with their mother, "Sister – Carver! Thank the Maker for your safety." She hurried to hug Hawke, unheeding the stains and dirt on her armour.

"However much I'm eager for a group hug, I think Carver needs the attention more than me for once," Hawke smiled thinly. "An arrow, here – I was able to push it through, but I… we had nothing."

"You were at the battle," Leandra said, a shadow over her features. She put her hands over her mouth, "Oh my sweet children, I thought I would never see you again."

"I promised I'd look out for him," Hawke's voice softened, though her smirk returned as Leandra took the cloth and started wiping down her features. "I looked, and promptly saw him shot with an arrow. Did I do good?"

"Would you get my bag?" Bethany asked, pointing across the room, and Hawke strode to retrieve it. "You're lucky, dear brother."

"Lucky to see you," Carver quietly said, cringing as Bethany began to rigorously clean the aged wound. He sucked in a breath, "That is almost more pleasant than having to spend the last few days trekking across the Hinterlands with Marian."

"I love you too," Hawke said, crossing her arms.

"Are you staying then? I – I feared the worst when news came from the army. The bann abandoned the village, and even the templars have left."

"So Lothering has become an almost perfect place to live?" Hawke said, arching a brow. "Of course it would, it is what must be so tempting to the horde."

"So it's true?" Bethany asked, her voice more tempered. "Teryn Loghain's men came through – they said the Wardens betrayed the king…"

"That is a bloody lie," Carver said, and he bit off a cry as Bethany smeared a salve over the wound. In a moment, she spoke a soft word and he was suffused with a blue glow. He closed his eyes, features softening as he exhaled. "Thank Andraste's flaming arse…"

"You could thank me instead," Bethany replied, brushing the hair off his forehead. "Let's put you in bed."

When Carver was shuffled off into the bedroom, Leandra helped Hawke out of her armour, and Bethany took the kettle off the fire. She handed a bowl to her sister, filling it and dropping in the cloth. Down to her breeches and breast band, Hawke began to wipe off the blood and grime, savouring the burning warmth. They sat by the fire and watched her, waiting.

"Well?" Bethany asked, throwing up her hands. "Are you going to tell us anything?"

"Teryn Loghain abandoned us on the field," Hawke finally said, exhaling and wringing the cloth before dipping it again. "It was a massacre."

"Maker's mercy," Leandra said, covering her mouth. "How – why would he do such a thing?"

"I do not know," Hawke said, fatigue creeping into her features. "But the Wardens… they said it is truly a Blight. And they are all dead."

"Are we going to be safe here? The farms to the south – villagers have been fleeing, saying the darkspawn already overran them," Bethany said, wringing her hands together.

"I'll keep us safe," Hawke nodded, reaching to give her sister's hand a squeeze. "I won't let anything happen to us. I'll find out what is going on, and you stay safe here. I don't want any stray templars finding you in the panic."

Bethany's expression softened, but the crease of worry on her brow remained, "Thank you, sister."

"I am so glad you and Carver are home in one piece. I do not know what I would do if I lost either of you," Leandra said, getting up to kiss her daughter's cleaned cheek. "But you need rest as much as he. We will be alright for the night."

* * *

"They've broken through the wall," Hawke said, knocking one of the crates from Carver's hands. The mabari beside him began to bark. "We're out of time!"

"We can't just leave everything," he replied, stooping to retrieve the crate. Leandra and Bethany emerged from their house.

"By all means, let me just run back and tell the horde to wait then," Hawke said, shaking her head as she turned to her mother. "We were trying to hold them off, but it's too much. We have to leave now. Half the militia was already dead when I left."

"You just abandoned them?" Carver furrowed his brow. "Why wouldn't you let me come fight?"

"Because we needed you," Bethany replied, looking to her sister. "There's no time, is there."

"I suppose we could stop for cake and a nap?" Hawke raised her brow, as her mother shook her head. "Get your weapons… and any gold we have. Anything else we have to leave." She leant in the doorway and whistled, "Come along, your grace!"

Carver hesitated as Leandra and Bethany ran back into the house, huffing a little, "It's us on the run again, isn't it."

"It isn't the Chantry this time, Carver," Hawke said, putting her hand down for their mabari. "Please… we can't wait. Get your sword, we need to protect them."

Hawke looked cautiously back down the road. It was a stroke of fortune they lived outside the town proper – albeit, a deliberate one. Easier to stay away from the eyes of the templars. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she followed them to the doorway, watching as her mother scrambled to grab anything. Hawke turned when she heard the sound of battle down the road, the strong mabari at her heel. There were new plumes of smoke from the fire, and she could see the creeping taint of the Blight in the sky.

"Mother, there is no time!" Bethany said, grabbing Leandra's hands and forcing her back towards the door.

Grabbing her prepped satchel from within the doorway, Hawke waited the last minute as they ushered out. Casting one last glance over their things, she pushed Carver after them and began to move. "We cannot take the road. Cut across Amara's field."

Running towards the fence, Bethany faltered as she looked across the rolling landscape. In the distance the windmill in town could easily be seen, its arms spinning with a lethargic melancholy. It was burning, and the slow turn stirred the smoke and flames. Shadows moved under the bleak sky, dark blots on the autumnal landscape. Where they went, death followed.

"Do no look," Hawke said, taking her sisters arms and pushing to keep her moving. "Do not think of it. We will make it out alive."

"But what about all of them," Bethany whispered, emotion choking her throat as they hurried across the sorghum field. "What about all of them?"

"They are in the Maker's hands," Carver said, lips in a grim line. "Like all the rest."


	2. Varric's Version: Flemeth's Rescue

**Varric's Version: Flemeth's Rescue**

* * *

So you might have heard that Hawke's a refugee from Ferelden – our very own Champion fled here with the darkspawn on her heels. It's what makes her tale so inspiring - a self-made woman who rose from nothing to the highest echelons of power. But behind such power, there's always a story – and having heard it straight from the horses' proverbial mouth, this one's too good not to share.

Hawke's family lost everything in the Blight, abandoning their home and all their possessions to flee from the horde. They wouldn't have made it out alive without her – or without the help of a certain woman of myth.

Flemeth. Asha'bellanar as the Dalish call her – the Witch of the Wilds, once beloved of Conobar. Famed in Ferelden in particular, but as much of a legend here for her beauty, malice and utter insanity. What you don't know about the Witch is her ability to take the form of a high dragon. This is how her and our Champion first met.

Her brother lay dead, stricken down as he tried to protect their mother. Hawke's blades dripped with the black ichor of darkspawn blood, an ogre felled beneath her – a story for another time – and it seemed they might make it. But the horde was unrelenting, and the vicious snarls of the darkspawn turned their weary heads. It seemed their fight had been all for naught.

The sky erupted with a piercing scream, cowering all but Hawke to the ground, and down swooped the dragon, fire in its breath lambasting hurlocks and genlocks alike. It snatched them in its jaws and claws, crushing and screaming, leaving nothing but cinders as it landed – and turned to our Champion as though looking for a tastier morsel.

The sky filled with light and pulled with unnatural wind, and before Hawke's eyes, the dragon became a curvaceous, scantily clad woman. A mage – a witch as her newly found friend in Aveline, yes the one and the same – advanced upon them. Hawke drew her blades, knowing it was certain death, but unwilling to let this abomination take her family while she still drew breath.

Being the powerful witch she was, Flemeth would have nothing of it and the maleficar roared back to life, mighty wings blocking out the blighted sky. Hawke's family fell back to safety behind Aveline's shield, and the nimble Champion darted amidst the dragon's feet. Blood flew, but Hawke stayed vigilant – daughter of a mage or no, she would not bow out and lose the people she loved. She had already lost too much.

In a brilliant stroke of devilish dexterity, Hawke was able to get her belt off, and loop it around the snout of the dragon, reeling Flemeth to the ground. Roar quenched, the witch writhed and seethed with rage, but Hawke held fast as she was flicked through the air – until finally, Flemeth lessened once more. The woman knelt before Hawke, the belt a leash around her slender neck.

"You are more than you appear to be," the white-haired witch said, dark eyes upon the Champion.

"The same could be said of anyone," Hawke replied.

They reached a compromise that day on the cliff – passage to the coast for the Champion and her family, in exchange for the Wild Witch's life. In protection of her word, Flemeth gave Hawke an amulet to bestow upon the Dalish residing on Sundermount. And being the honourable person she is, the Champion made the deal – and joined her family upon the dragon's back, winged away from the Blight and to freedom on the docks of Gwaren.


	3. Across the Waking Sea

"You're not bringing that mutt on board," the coxswain growled, meeting Hawke's eye.

"He's no mutt, he's the finest Ferelden has to offer," Hawke replied casually, patting her mabari on the head. "He's worth his weight. Rats will not be a problem with him around."

"What does it matter," Aveline said, looking at the throngs of refugees behind them. Gwaren was livelier than it had been since the occupation. "We are paying his way as well as ours."

"He is better behaved than most men, I assure you," Hawke said with a grin, and the mabari ruffed his agreement. "See? You'll be good on the ship, won't you, your grace?"

"Please," Leandra pleaded, taking the coxswain's hand as he looked back through the masses. "We've given you everything to our name. Help me and my family get to safety."

Bethany tightened her fingers on Hawke's arm, nodding towards where the docks met the shore. A trio of templars were scanning the crowds and helping to maintain order as the desperate masses clogged the shoreline. There was a captain bearing Loghain's standard alongside them.

"We have to get on this ship," Hawke said, stepping between them as she directed her family and hound towards the gangplank. She licked her lips and tilted her head, "Certainly a man like you and a woman like me can arrange something? To keep from ruining anyone's day."

The coxswain scoffed, "You think you're not the first tart to lift her skirts and try to get on this boat?"

"You have our coin, what more do you want?" Hawke's voice lost its airs. "Are you just going to let us die? Or would you prefer I slit the throat of my hound and throw him in the sea?"

"Bloody Fereldens," the coxswain muttered, the quill in his hand twirling as he flourished the manifest. "Get on the damned ship."

Glancing once more at the templars and militiaman on shore, Hawke nodded and said, "Thank you, ser. You've saved us."

"Shut up and get in the hold, woman," the coxswain scarce looked at her, beckoning the next group of people forward. "Get yer coin out."

* * *

Hawke woke with a start, having dozed in a rare moment of quiet in the hold. She swayed with the roll of the ship. It was the only day that had been calm yet. Swallowing the instinct to yawn, she pulled a leg up and wrapped her arm around her face. It was early morning. "You think I'd get used to the smell."

Beside her, Bethany was blankly staring at the wall, "Did you get used to the other smells? When you were in the army with Carver?"

Rolling her tongue, Hawke swallowed the emotion and said, "Well, Carver did always smell funny. But I got used to him long ago."

Bethany shook her head before letting it hang down. Their mother was sleeping on her lap, their mabari sprawled between them. She whispered, "He should be here."

"I know," Hawke said, clearing her dry throat. Standing up, she stiffly shuffled amidst the refuges to where one of the sailors stood. She produced a copper and was given a skein of water. "Thanks."

The coin disappeared into his palm, and the grizzled man nodded.

"Don't suppose there's any way to go up and get a bit of fresh air?" Hawke smiled thinly. "Someone down here has terribly bad breath."

Eyes flicking down Hawke's body, the sailor sneered and said, "I could think of another way to get fresh."

"A change of clothes might be nice, but I thought that might be asking too much," Hawke's smile faded into falseness. "I suppose I'll just take the water."

The sailor caught her hand as she turned to go and said, "My friend here might have something else for you."

"You know, I simply love a good innuendo, but if you don't take your hand off of me," Hawke's voice dipped low, her free hand upon the blade at his hip. She pressed the blade through a hole in his shirt, the metal cold on his skin, "You're going to find yourself up a creek without your prized skipper."

"Cameron, let go of her," came another man's voice, and the recognizable lieutenant approached. "She paid her fare like the rest of them."

Hawke slipped the blade back as she was released, inclining her head, "Thank you, ser, I appreciate it."

Watching the sailor go, the lieutenant said, "I help a fellow countryman while I can. But that is hardly what brought me down." He wrinkled his nose, "We've sighted a storm, moving in fast from the open west. You best find a place to lash down and pray the Maker sees us through it."

"Are there always so many storms?" Hawke asked, paling slightly. "I had thought I might almost get to keep my hard tack down today."

Chuckling darkly, the lieutenant replied, "It is nearly winter. Not a kind time on the seas."

"Thank you for telling us," Hawke said, skein swaying in her hand. She stooped and wove back to her family.

"Everything alright?" Aveline sat up, slouched against the outer hull. She ran her fingers through her frizzy hair before accepting the skein from Hawke.

"Wait for it –" Hawke said, passing the water to her sister in turn. "Another storm! Just what we wanted."

"Sometimes I think you try too hard, Hawke," Aveline said, shaking her head. "Is she always like this?"

"Yes," Bethany replied. "Worse than father ever was."

"He always appreciated my delightful wit," Hawke said. "I'm not sure I could be dour if I tried. Let's see." She pursed her lips together, shuffling back to lean against one of the beams. Her voice was uncharacteristically low, "Lo' a storm approaches."

"It reminds me of him," Leandra said, sitting up alongside Bethany.

Aveline fished their tack from her satchel, breaking it up as she said, "Here… best eat before it ends up thrown across the deck."

"If it's anything like the other storms, it will soon find its way there," Hawke murmured, before nibbling at the biscuit.


	4. Servitude

The door slammed behind Hawke, urged by the wind. Wet, heavy snow clung in the creases of her armour, and she began to strip without a word.

"Well?" Leandra asked, looking up.

"No one is out," Hawke replied. "You'd think they'd never seen snow before."

"Damned Fereldens, bringing your snow with you," Gamlen cursed by the fire, before coughing heavily.

"Yes, it is all our fault," Hawke rolled her eyes, striding across the room in the scant smalls beneath her armour. She rummaged in the back room before emerging in some warmer clothing. "Isn't it always what you wanted, uncle?"

Gamlen grumbled in his own way, closing his eyes again as he lay down. Leandra wrung out the cloth in her hand, before pressing it to the gash on his forehead again.

"Bethany should be back by nightfall, at the latest," Hawke said, adding more wood to the fire before joining them. The pad of heavy feet preceded their large mabari hoisting itself into her lap. "Ahh hello your grace? Did you miss me? Of course you did."

The mabari harrumphed quietly, pulling its other legs up so he squashed Hawke - though she hardly seemed to mind. She roughly rubbed the dog's neck and ears, kissing him on the head.

"He ate another rat," Gamlen murmured.

"That would certainly explain his breath," Hawke replied, grinning at the mabari and saying, "Good job, boy."

"Hmph," her uncle sighed, closing his eyes.

"What are you doing incurring gambling debts anyway, my dearest uncle?" Hawke casually asked after a while, still stroking the dog draped over her lap.

"None of your damned business," he grumbled.

"I think it is," Hawke casually said. She struggled to reach her drying armour under the weight of the mabari, retrieving a small satchel. She threw I at Gamlen, and he grunted when it hit him on the head, reopening the cut there. "When Coterie are waiting outside our door for you."

"What is this?"

"The purse they held," Hawke murmured, rubbing her dog's head again. "They shouldn't be a problem again. At least not those... specific men."

"Maker preserve us," Leandra sighed, closing her eyes. "Why do you do these things, Marian?"

"Me?" Hawke said, and her movement startled the dog. She grunted as he scrambled off her. "I saved sweet uncle Gamlen's damned life. They would have gutted him and left him to freeze in the snow."

"When did we fall so far," Leandra softly said. "What would your father say?"

"I don't know," Hawke waved a hand. "At least she hid the bodies?" She was out of the chair, fetching a bit of bread before leaning on the table behind them.

Leandra put the cloth down and covered her eyes, kneeling on the ground beside Gamlen. "Where is Bethany? She should be here."

"The job needs doing," Hawke emptily said, looking down at the stained, worn wood.

"So why aren't you with her?"

Hawke shook her head, closing her eyes, "Too many men. They wouldn't give me the details - it's not like we have much choice."

"There should have been something better..."

"We aren't trodden under the Blight that ravages Ferelden, This is the something's better," Hawke replied. "Though I imagine life as a ghoul deformed darkspawn might have been easier."

Gamlen started coughing again, and he groaned, blood from the gash weeping and drawing Leandra's attention again. Stalking back across the small room, Hawke retrieved the kettle from over the fire, filling the tin cups and passing them out.

"On the bright side," she said. "With uncle laid up and infirm, he cannot be out wasting more coin."

* * *

"Really now, you both are such amateurs," Hawke grinned coquettishly, twirling the dagger in her hand. She shook her head and used the blade to measure out the fine powder on the parchment.

"Where did you get the flasks?" One of the elves sitting across from her asked.

"Through perfectly legitimate means, I assure you," Hawke murmured.

"Right."

Taking the amount on the edge of her blade, she tipped it against the folded piece of paper, feeding it into the small neck of the vial. Lighting the wick on the wax stick, watched it burn before blowing it out, and sealing the delicate vial. dropping it into the flask of clear liquid, she corked it and sealed it too.

"There," Hawke said with a grin. "Keep a pocket full of these and you'll do well enough."

The elf turned it over in his hand, murmuring, "You're in the wrong line of work, Hawke."

"Oh I don't know, Bertol," Hawke draped an arm over the back of her chair. "I thought as an elf you must know just how gratifying slavery can be."

Bertol growled in reply, but his companion laughed, and Hawke smiled casually. The lamps in the small room flickered as the door opened, and Bethany came running in.

"It's over," she gasped, eyes wide. "Marian, it's over!"

"Athenril ended out contract early? Or is it that rash you mentioned..."

"Sister," Bethany groaned, coming to take Hawke's hand. "It's all over the streets. The Blight is over - the Wardens killed the archdemon!"

Hawke exchanged glances with the elves, "The Blight? It's truly over?"

"Yes!" Bethany laughed as Hawke stood up and shouldered her satchel. "The army the Wardens gathered are joined with the Queen's on the heels of the darkspawn - Ferelden is free!"

"The Queen?" Hawke raised her brow, "Why do I feel there's something I've missed..."

"Come on," Bethany took her hand, tugging her along, "We must tell mother!" They were out the door before Hawke could say another word, jogging through the bustle of Lowtown. "Just think - we could be back home after our service is up!"

"I wouldn't get too overzealous, sister," Hawke replied, easily keeping up. "Darkspawn aren't the sort to clean up after they've made themselves at home."

"Right... I know," Bethany slowed down, exhaling out. "You're always right."

Hawke squeezed her shoulder, grinning, "You'll learn some day. Come. It's exciting news for mother, none the less."

* * *

"I'm not comfortable doing this," Aveline whispered, swaying on the balls of her feet as she kept watch.

"Oh please," Hawke said from where she knelt. She manipulated the picks in her hand as she murmured, "Does anything I do make you comfortable, Aveline?"

"Sleeping, perhaps," she replied, earning a snort from Hawke. There was the quiet click of pins. "Is this going to take much longer? It's almost dawn."

"I'll have you back in time for ample beauty rest, I promise," Hawke murmured, slowly turning her wrist and finally aligning the tumblers. She smiled gregariously back at Aveline as she said, "Our mistress should be pleased with this."

"Why do you call her that?"

"Indentured servant, slave – is there much of a difference?" Hawke inhaled as she pulled open the leather bag in the chest and checked the powder within. She shivered. "Lyrium powder."

"What are you doing?" Aveline lowered her sword, gawking.

Hawke sucked her tongue back in, smacking her lips, "I just wanted to taste it. What are all these mages on about, anyway?"

"Maker preserve me," Aveline sighed, shaking her head as Hawke pointed at another box to retrieve.

"It mathe my lipth and thongue thumb," Hawke awkwardly spoke, obviously with some difficulty. "Thhit."

"There – the signal," Aveline said, catching Hawke by the scruff of her shirt. "We have to go!"

Hawke stumbled, her eyes dilating wide as she cinched the bag shut and stuffed it in her satchel. She beckoned to Aveline and they slunk along the wall, hearing the clump of feet down the hall. Pointing to the wall, Hawke hoisted Aveline up and out the window – right as one of the patrols spotted them.

"You! You don't belong here."

Hawke smiled in the most cavalier way, leaning against the wall as she heard Aveline hit ground and curse outside the window, "Of courth I thoo."

The guard advanced closer and narrowed his eyes, "What's wrong with you? No funny business."

"Drath, I hapthen thoo be quith funny, you know," Hawke struggled, and soon she was coughing to try and not laugh. As the guard reached for his sword, her wrist snapped, and the flask broke on the wall. Holding her breath, she punched him in the face and kicked him to the ground, before turning and hauling herself up and out the window.

"Wun!" Hawke slurred as she pushed Aveline and looked behind them, the telltale seep of green gas visible through the high window.

"What did you do, Hawke?" Aveline glared as they picked up the pace and darted down the back alley of the docks.

"Nothing unnethethary, I athure you," Hawke tried to smile, but the numbness in her lips left the expression lop-sided.

"Maker, nothing's ever boring with you," Aveline laughed and shook her head. They could hear a call of alarm behind them, and she followed as Hawke darted up a set of crates, panting as she clamoured in her armour. "I hate you right now."

"You'll love me lather I promith," Hawke grinned brokenly again, offering a hand as they dropped down into the street. "I'll make ith thoo the dwop."

Aveline checked the alley as she nodded, turning north, "Let me know if you make it back alive…"

Hawke nodded, eyes sparkling. When Aveline was out of sight, she turned the other direction and jogged through the shadows, eyes bright to watch for pursuers.


	5. The Last Heist

Bethany clasped her mouth shut as she watched Hawke lay down the trap. There were two elves with her – two of Athenril's low ranked smugglers. In a second the slick was in place, and her sister ran back into hiding with them. They were down by the docks, near where the chantry received their shipments.

"No one is going to fall for it," Bertol said, shaking his head as he crouched in the shadows.

"Oh ye of little faith," Hawke replied, eyes glinting as she looked at Bethany.

"Why here, sister?" Bethany said with mild exasperation. "The last thing we need is to draw attention from the templars!"

Hawke raised a hand, grinning devilishly, "Well, they come down here, we'll know well ahead of time."

There came a sudden cry of surprise and the crash of armour, and all four of them sucked back between the crates that hid one of the entrances to their auxiliary base.

"What did I tell you!" whispered Hawke enthusiastically, popping up to look towards the stairs. "A dock worker."

"Now I feel bad," Bethany whispered, furrowing her brow. "What if he's a refugee?"

"He isn't," Hawke rolled her eyes, grinning still. "And if we wanted to be mean, I'd have you set it on fire." The two elves laughed.

"Marian!"

"What, I didn't ask you to, did I?" she defended, grinning at her cohorts. "Would you?"

"No!" Bethany answered in a hiss.

Hawke gave a melodramatic sigh as she moved to spy on the location, "He's fine, anyway. Already gone."

"What am I, five again? Across an ocean, and you're still pulling nails out of the chantry cart."

"It was only once, dear sister," Hawke casually said. "And I seem to recall you being rather amused at that outcome."

"Left Carver to get caught, as always," Bethany whispered, and they both fell silent. All four crouched in awkward silence as they waited.

"Shit, Hawke," Bertol grabbed her arm. "It's two templars!"

"Maker's breath," Bethany whimpered, looking down and covering her face.

Hawke shushed them all and watched, one eye snuck around the edge of the crate. They were just about to take the stairs when there was a sound behind them. Standing quick as a flash, they turned to face Athenril, still tucked out of sight of the templars.

"So what are you wasting my time doing today?" Athenril looked at the elves and then the sky, "Shouldn't you two be meeting with Paelan? Go."

"You owe me a silver for that, Bertol! Don't forget it!" Hawke called after them.

Athenril shook her head as the others darted back through the labyrinth of crates and barrels. "Sometimes I wonder if you're more trouble than you're worth, Hawke."

"Good thing you know I am," Hawke said with a grin. There was a cry from down the street and the crunch as someone fell, followed swallowed laughter from Bethany. "Where would you be without your beloved Hawke sisters?"

Athenril rolled her eyes and motioned for them to follow, "I know your year is almost up, but I've gotten wind of a job – a big one. Something I think only you can handle."

* * *

"I can't Marian, I just can't," Bethany whispered as they huddled in the shadows. "You saw the templars - they will know for certain."

Hawke closed her eyes and nodded, leaning heavily against the wall. It had taken them half the point to get this far. The berth was almost empty, but a few nighttime workers remained. If what Athenril had said were true, the ledger and trade contracts would be within the locked office nearby.

"Wait here and be my eyes," Hawke finally whispered, sinking down to her knees. She put a flask into her hand. "Stay out of sight. Use this only if necessary, I'll see or hear it."

Bethany readily nodded, shrunk against the wall, eyes bright as she watched and Hawke crouch. The rogue advanced forward in a catlike way, eyes darting with as much caution as she advanced upon the door. Kneeling before it, she inspected the door, refraining from testing the lock as she saw the trap. It would have cut her off at the ankles. Sighing silently, Hawke stayed poised and began to take it apart.

There was a muffled yelp, followed by the crack of glass, and Hawke was on her feet, snapping the trap in an instance. She scarce had time to move as the metal whipped and caught her across the calf, half embedded in her leathers. She cursed loudly, wobbling on her feet as she looked towards her sister.

"Well well, if it ain't Hawke," the man who stood by her said, idly taping Bethany's staff on the ground. Beside him a man had her sister pinned, her arms held and a rough hand over her mouth. The flask was half-broken on the ground behind them, unmixed and useless.

"Jaffy," Hawke said as she extricated herself from the metal whip, gritting her teeth. "I don't appreciate seeing my sister manhandled."

"So you know me?" Jaffy shrugged, his sword in hand as he said, "Don't see much difference. Open th' door."

"What now, needing a woman to do your job?" Hawke casually said, her eyes flecking to Bethany. "I had always thought the Coterie were better than this."

"You've pulled off a lot of jobs for Athenril," Jaffy replied, and Bethany struggled behind him. There was a glint of steel by her throat in the lamplight. "More than her piece o' the pie."

"And everyone always wants more pie," Hawke murmured, still standing in the doorway.

"Somefin like that." Jaffy grinned, "Now open the door or things get bloody."

Hawke looked at Bethany once more, her face shadowed, "Certainly then, old pal."

"Keep a good 'old on that one," Jaffy said to his man, stepping closer to Hawke as she slipped the picks from her gloves and made work of the lock. She finished it and opened the door for him. "I don' think so, lovey. After you."

"Such a gentleman," Hawke replied, keeping her head turned as she advanced through the door into the small shipping office. There were no lights and she used it to her advantage, deliberately kicking a chest and floundering. "Sodding hell, where's a lamp."

"Bloody Fereldens," Jaffy said, reaching for the lantern by the door. In an instance, Hawke was upon him, her dagger pressed up between his thighs. She caught his lips in her other hand.

"You know, people keep saying that to me," Hawke whispered, teasing the cold metal against his daddy bits. "Like it's a request, mmm? Be a shame for your piss and blood to ruin my lovely pantaloons."

Hawke stepped him back against the table, and he squeaked under her hand as she made a passionate sound, "Maker yes!" Staring down at him, she narrowed her eyes, "Best do something to dissuade your men from holding my sister any longer than needed, or you might need to join the chantry boy's choir."

"Rochester, let the girl go, we's got what we need!"

"I think you ruined your trousers, Jaffy," Hawke hissed, and with a flick of her wrist she cut open his pants, and he squeaked again, the sound muffled under her hand. All but purring, she called, "We need to get wet more often, Bethany." She flicked her wrist again, and this time Jaffy screamed.

Hawke turned back, eyes darting around the cabin as the man behind her clutched his loins and crumpled to the ground, blood welling between his fingers. She snatched up the papers she could see, shoving them in her satchel, and Bethany was in the doorway, she pointed at the only visible book, "Grab it - come on, boy! Can't handle a Ferelden woman, can you?"

"What did you do?"

"Run to the water," Hawke said, pushing her back out the door and with a flick of her wrist, a flask burst on the ground, a noxious gas welling. An arrow hit the doorframe beside them, and she pushed Bethany harder. "Go!"

"Where! Run into the water?" Bethany cried as they dashed around the dock and out towards the steps.

"You used to freeze butterflies for fun, what's a little water?" Hawke laughed a little, leg stiff as she hurried after her sister. The deep cut there left a spattered path behind them.

Bethany made a frustrated sound, turning to foist the book into her sister's hands, "Sweet Andraste, you are insane!"

"Any day now, dear sister," Hawke said as she looked back, stuffing the book in her oilskin satchel. Jaffy's cries had dimmed, but she could hear distant footsteps. "Just to the next berth, don't think, just go!"

Shaking her head, Bethany summoned the will, and from her lands leapt a chilling air that coated the surface of the water and the edges of the dock. The vortex of cold extended from her hands and gave a good ten-foot run.

"Perfect!" Hawke cried, laughing wildly. She snagged Bethany's sleeve, and they ran out onto the ice, the thin slick readily cracking under their feet, "More, more!"

"I can't, Marian!" Bethany replied, shrieking as they slipped and reached the end of the ice. An arrow hit behind them, and the makeshift bridge shattered, plunging them into the harbour.

The water drowned out the sounds of their pursuers, and Hawke grabbed Bethany's arm as they floundered in the water. Breaking surface, they panted for air, kicking to swim away as another few arrows hit around them.

"Don't think," Hawke panted, "Swim! Go!"

Drenched, they madly swam for the next berth, which was thankfully empty, and Hawke planted a hand on her sister's backside to push her out of the water before hauling herself up. They choked on the polluted water, shivering in the breeze that came off the water. There were more noises on the docks, and a bell was ringing as workers woke.

"As much as I'd love to stay," Hawke hauled to her feet, offering a hand, "It might be wise we make our departure."

Bethany shook her head, getting up to run with her sister.

"No?"

"Yes!" she breathlessly replied, and they off up the dock, wet footprints and drips left in their wake. "Where are we going? It's gone to shit, Marian!"

"Yes, yes, we're all washed up, I know," Hawke replied as they made it to the relatively empty streets. "Leamin's landing."

They soon dried enough as they ran, scarce avoiding one of the city guards on patrols, and made it to the small nook along the northern wall. Tugging the skeleton key from around her neck, Hawke unlocked the door and ushered Bethany inside, before looking out in the street and following her in. Locking it behind them, she collapsed against the door, panting heavily.

"Maker, please tell me you still have the book," Bethany shook her head, collapsing into the chair by the nonexistent fire.

Hawke slipped down to sit on the ground, shivering for the cold as she pulled her satchel into her lap. Opening it, she tugged out the drenched scrolls, laying them out before inspecting the book. "Light a fire."

Taking the flint from the mantle, Bethany lit the kindling in the hearth, and in a moment they had light and heat. Hawke knelt beside her and opened the strap on the book, flipping the pages open. Water had only soaked around the outer edge, the writing still intact.

"Thank the Maker," Bethany said, closing her eyes and slouching against the mantle.


	6. Varric's Version: The Last Heist

**Varric's Version: The Last Heist**

* * *

Known but unspoken of by most in Kirkwall is the fact that the templars of the Gallows fuel a massive rivalry between smugglers and thieves with their ludicrous underground lyrium trade. Even as a surface dwarf, that sort of information comes second nature – lyrium is our lifeblood.

For years, the Coterie toed the Carta's line, moving in a precarious dance with one another as they vied for any excess dust they could get their hands on. One crate alone could make or break a cell and all the men in it. So I'm sure it comes as little surprise to hear that Hawke completely shat on the proverbial house of cards, with the job she took for her small-time employer during her time as an indentured servant in the underbelly of our fine city.

As luck would have it, the elf she was all but owned by got word of a transfer on the docks – a transfer at a berth she knew the Coterie didn't have their eyes on. Ballsy as it was, she knew the stakes, and turned to none other than Hawke and her mage-born sister to do the job. Lowtown had come to know the dark-haired sisters, with Hawke's daggers as quick as her tongue, and they were fiercely protective of one another. They did good work, and everyone knew it.

It was pushing past autumn, around when the fogs start rolling in through the cliffs, weighing down the choke-damp and providing perfect cover for any deviant down by the docks. You know the time of year. It was perfect.

Under the cover of night, they broke into the quarter, and Hawke left a trail of guards in her wake – oh no, she didn't kill them. She didn't have to. A well-placed dagger incapacitates a limb, while her sister's spells left them equally drowsy. Luck was with them, and they avoided templar detection, finding their way to the locked down berth.

Hawke is one of the few people who even comes close – I'd like to see you try and defeat me, get the lock and we'll prove it – but as she worked through the labyrinth of traps, she heard her sister scream. The Coterie had stumbled on their work and taken the lady mage hostage.

"You hurt her, and your men will be wishing they'd tried to fuck each other instead," Hawke called out to them from her cover in the boatswain's office. She was bleeding badly, her ankle maimed from a sprung trap. They were at an impasse.

Offering herself in her sister's place – and you've seen Hawke, she's got the curves to do it – she tempted their leader Jaffy into the office, sly and seductive. Of course it was a trap, and the thief was just too stupid to know it. Caught under Hawke's blade, he squealed to his men to let the girl go.

Grabbing the lyrium and papers, Hawke's dagger found home, and she robbed the man of his two bits. Jaffy gushed blood, and she pushed him to the ground, pocketing the grisly souvenir. Amidst a hail of arrows they ran down the dock, and when it seemed like they would be dead for sure, Hawke's sister froze the waters of the bay, and they made their escape over a bridge of ice.

The job was the last Hawke and her sister ever had to do as servants to the smugglers – but now you know how it truly came to a head. And that's why Hawke's got the balls to pull off any wack job that comes her way. To this day, she still keeps Jaffy's shrivelled nuggets tied around her neck, a reminder to any who'd threaten her family.


	7. In Lighter Times

"Fifty sovereigns," Hawke sighed as she walked alongside Varric and Bethany. "What was I thinking?"

"It's hardly your fault," Varric grinned as they strode through Lowtown. "You couldn't resist my charms - no one can." Bethany laughed.

"That must be it," Hawke replied, putting a hand to her breast. "Anything for you my short, shaggy stud."

Varric chuckled, dropping a hand in his pocket, "That's what I like to hear."

"Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret being around you two," Bethany murmured. "So where are we going anyway? And why are you carrying so much?"

"To Sundermount to repay a debt," Hawke said.

"Real funny," Varric murmured, "Snagging your new dwarven compatriot to climb a mountain."

"You did say you'd help," Hawke's eyes glinted as she looked down on him. "And you look like you could use the exercise."

Varric smacked a hand on his stomach, "I can't help it if you don't like a man with meat on his bones."

"Or hair," Bethany muttered, to which Varric sniggered.

"Come on," Hawke laughed, shaking her head. "Unless you're too much of a coward to traipse up the mountain to a Dalish camp?"

"Far be it from me to try and impede your egress," Varic replied. "Lead the way, serah. I could use getting into a bit of trouble."

"We need to meet up with a friend, first," Hawke replied.

They made it part way up the slopes by that evening, and Hawke dropped their bedrolls. Aveline stretched in the dying light, conducting a rudimentary patrol of the nearby trail.

Hawke climbed a nearby tree and sat in the branches, watching the sun on the water in the distance. It was the first time they'd really been outside of the city since arriving.

"So do you know where we're going?" Varric asked, leaning against the base of the stubby tree.

"Never really been there," Hawke absently said, before smirking and looking down. "Would you like a hand up into the branches?"

Varric grumbled, "No. And that's because I'm not some wild creature scrambling up trees. Don't see the fuss about this, give me a city."

"She's always been like that," Bethany said, settling by the fire she started. "Her and Carver always used to… to…"

Varric raised his brow, though Bethany turned and curled up into her bedroll. Aveline furrowed her brow, remaining quiet as she turned away into her own thoughts of loss. Hawke dropped out of the tree, sinking to sit at the base of it. The dwarf sat on one of the gnarled roots beside her.

"Our brother," Hawke quietly said, stripping some bark off the tree. "He died before we made it out of Ferelden. They were twins."

"I'm sorry," Varric said, exhaling as he looked towards the sea. "It's never easy losing family."

"If only he were so easily misplaced," Hawke murmured. "Then I might find him, and pick him up off his ass. He would love Kirkwall – and you and Isabela."

Varric smirked and said, "I'm not sure if I should be flattered at being grouped together with that pirate."

"He'd like you for different reasons, I assure you," Hawke chuckled, her grin growing. "You don't have quite the rack she does. I would be able to tease him endlessly."

"And she would too, no doubt."

"Yes," A ghost shadowed Hawke's face in the growing twilight. "We rarely got along. When he joined King Cailan's army, I followed to make sure he wouldn't get himself killed on some darkspawn's sword. He hated that I did. And then I ended up outranking him," Grinning hawkishly, she followed, "Part of the reason I did it too, I think."

"Never would have pegged you as a deserter." Varric groused a bit, "Suppose I got used to the role – never minded too much that Bartrand got all the attention and responsibility."

"Lot of good it did Carver in the end," Hawke murmured, turning her face into the breeze. She slipped an amulet from around her neck turning it over.

"That something you took from him?"

"No," Hawke laughed, shaking her head, "One of the few things I didn't. No… this is the reason we go to Sundermount. All because of a witch."

Varric arched his brow, grinning, "I sense a story."

* * *

"He's an abomination," Bethany said, furrowing her brow. "If you couldn't tell, I can confirm it for certain."

"Good times," Varric muttered, following Hawke through the dark streets.

"We've got half the gold," Hawke replied under her breath, watching the shadows. "And he's got the map that will let the coin fall into Bartrand's pocket."

"She's right about that," Varric said, and he patted Bethany's arm. "He seems like a nice abomination, at least?"

"Why do I always end up at your side breaking into the chantry at night?" Aveline asked, keeping stride with Hawke.

"Because you are the big sister I never had," Hawke pouted at her as they stopped to listen. "You couldn't bear the thought of me going all alone."

"Maker," Aveline sighed, waiting along the wall as Hawke investigated the path ahead. "I know you can handle yourself."

"Boredom, then?" Hawke asked, arching her brow before directing them across the square. "You said your patrols have been rather mundane. Or is it the pay? Shall I continue?"

"No," Aveline said, arching a hand over her brow. They stopped in the open. "I can't do this, Hawke. The captain is already on my tail. If he catches wind of this..."

"You are not bound to help us," Bethany said, touching her arm. "I know my sister can be rather demanding."

Aveline made a trying sound before saying, "I will stay on the steps and watch your back. The least I can do is keep city patrols from nosing around."

Hawke's eyes sparkled, and she leant to give Aveline a kiss, "I owe you."

Smacking her away, Aveline said, "Damned right you do. Go then... I don't want any details."

* * *

Hawke strolled through the Lowtown markets, pausing as something caught her eye. She turned over the amulet, holding it up in the light. The gem within glinted silver and blue in the early morning light.

"Fine piece of work," the merchant nodded. "Tevinter origin, I'm told."

"Hmmm," Hawke replied, feeling its heft in her hand. The thought to pocket it and flee crossed her mind, when she saw someone nearby. "Anders."

The mage looked up from the herbalist, depositing a few silvers into the gnarled hands of the old woman. The small bottles of dried bits disappeared into his satchel as he hesitated before strolling over, "Hello."

"Marian Hawke," she said, putting her free hand to her chest.

"Yes," he said tiredly, "I remember."

"I don't expect it I suppose," Hawke smirked. "I wouldn't have expected to see you here."

"She has the best herbs," Anders motioned back to the woman. "I try to come early, before any... trouble might brew."

Hawke smoothed her thumb over the amulet, the merchant expectantly watching her, "If you ever need anything, I'd gladly help retrieve it. You help our fellow countrymen more than anyone else in this damned city." The merchant frowned.

"Thank you," Anders replied, his eyes not meeting hers as he reached for the gem. "Let me see that... this would be worth buying, you know."

"Ten silver," Hawke said, arching her brow at the merchant.

"I don't know who you think you are, serah, but it is worth twice that," the merchant scoffed.

"Yes, well the funny thing is, you can sell it to me for that much, or I can simply walk off with a new trinket," Hawke smiled, resting a hand on the dagger on her belt. She pulled out a handful of coins and left them on the table. The merchant grumbled as she walked away with Anders.

"That seemed a little extreme," he said, looking back.

"Oh please," Hawke replied, waving her hand as the amulet disappeared. "I paid for it, didn't I?"

"I suppose," Anders murmured, following her through the market. She led them to the Ferelden imports, and the woman inside rushed to clasp his hand as Hawke left more coin in the donations box. When they were back in the street, he said, "I miss it more than I thought I would."

"Sometimes I wonder if we could go back," Hawke said. "I mean, I know there is... Lothering is gone. I have heard enough from others who did not get out of the country as soon as we did but." When Anders nodded, she asked, "Did you grow up there?"

"I did," he stiffly replied, lips forming a line as they slowly walked.

Hawke raised her brow, resting her thumbs in the loops of her belt, "I see. Well. Enough of me asking about awkward things then."

"Lots of memories," Anders said, shaking his head. "And not all of them pleasant ones."

"Sounds about right," Hawke said, hesitating outside the Hanged Man. "So you need more pleasant memories then?"

Anders arched his brow, "I suppose you could say that."

"How does that spirity thing inside you feel about swimming?"

Glancing around, Anders cautiously said, "I am not certain he has an opinion. Why?"

Hawke's smile twisted as she said, "Well some of us are heading out of town. A lovely summer day like this, it's a shame to stay clothed, really."

"Pardon?"

"We're going swimming," Hawke laughed a bit. "In the ocean? You know? Wounded water? You should come."

"Swimming," Anders flatly said.

"Mhm," Hawke replied, turning to point, "My house is just up the steps. They're women, you know. My friends. Most of them. Then again, perhaps you're keen on seeing a dwarf down to his smalls. All that hair, mmm?"

Anders' expression shifted as he laughed oddly, glancing back towards the markets, "I - I have my things from the market."

"And you may leave them at my house," Hawke said, offering her arm. When he took it, she turned towards the slums. "I promise, his grace will keep my uncle from hawking it."

"Why am I not reassured," Anders muttered.

* * *

"Why couldn't we just stay in the city," Varric muttered, crossing his arms as they led down to the beach.

"Have you actually smelled the harbour waters?" Merrill asked, light-footed over the sand. "Worse than the choke-damp."

"Something to take pride in," the dwarf replied.

Hawke walked with her face up in the sun, pointing into the bay, "Isabela - is that your ship?"

"Oh Hawke, you're so delightfully funny," Isabela dryly said, stripping her boots and leaving them under a tree.

Hawke seemed oblivious, dropping her daggers on the pile. Pursing her lips, she pointed at the remnants of another wreck, "What about that one?"

"I could help you with that mouth, you know," Isabela said, shifting her glare to Bethany as the girl laughed. "I've got a fist here if you're hungry for it."

"I think she just wants to help you find it," Merrill replied, swaying on her bare feet, already down to her smalls. "I thought you missed it."

"Kitten, my dear, she is not helping me," Isabela said, whipping off her belt to smack Hawke's backside. "Hawke does not help. She twists the dagger."

Hawke laughed and scooted out of the way, grabbing Bethany's arm, "I am helping! Last one in has to lick a pint off the floor of the Hanged Man tonight."

"Revolting," Isabela said, darting after them across the sand. She caught Hawke by the arm, trying to trip her, but they made it into the frigid waves and collapsed into the water at much the same time.

"Holy Maker!" Bethany cried, surfacing for air as Hawke tried to half-drown her. "It was never that cold near Highever!"

"Yes it was," Hawke said, wading deeper. "You just always stayed in the shallows."

"You wanted to swim out to the rocks," Bethany defended, sinking down into the meagre waves. "No matter what father said about the tides."

"I couldn't let Carver keep all the glory," Hawke murmured, shielding her face as Isabela splashed her. "Oh you're asking for it now."

Varric sat amidst their clothing beneath the tree, a nub of graphite in his thick fingers as he wrote in a book. Liberated from his robes, Anders sat beside Aveline on a rock on the shore in a loose linen shirt and trousers. He shook his head and watched them play, before saying, "Not going to join them?"

"Me?" Aveline raised her brow, almost scoffing, "Hardly. What about you? Or do Circle mages not know how to swim?"

"Shows what you know about the Ferelden Circle," Anders replied. "I'll have you know I escaped from that prison seven times - swimming became a necessity with it in the middle Lake Calenhad."

Aveline furrowed her brow, crossing her arms and saying, "I suppose it would have." She strummed her fingers on the rock beneath them before adding, "So what are you waiting for?"

"Me? What about you?" he replied.

"It is more difficult than it seems to say no to Hawke," Aveline said after a moment. The furrow on her brow smoothed away, "She and Bethany are some of my only friends in the city. Don't really know where else to turn."

"Hmm," Anders said, his arms crossed, mirroring Aveline unconsciously. "It does look like fun."

Aveline harrumphed and stood up, rolling her eyes as she took off her belt. A light flush rose on her cheeks as she said, "Well I won't be the one caught sitting here. You can carry that honour."

"What about Varric?" Anders asked as Aveline was left in her undershirt and smalls.

"You're welcome to make him try," she replied, turning away to casually walk down to the water. Bethany ran ashore to meet her, before dragging her in.

Anders lingered there, watching them romp like children in the surf. He scarce noticed when Varric closed his book. The dwarf reclined against the tree, pulling up his coat over his head to nap, "People might be poor, but it doesn't mean they can't be happy."

Watching them a while, Anders shucked his shirt and made for the water. He waded in a few feet before shivering, "Andraste's tits, what possessed you to come in here?"

Hawke dropped Bethany and looked at him, hands on her hips, "Well it certainly wasn't a spirit of justice. It was Merrill's idea – and a good one at that." Bethany floundered before swearing at her sister.

Anders shook his head before holding his hands over the water, "Not what I meant."

The girls stopped as the water around them warmed. Merrill wiped the hair from her eyes, "Now why didn't I think of that?"

"An ocean full of mages right here, and we opt to freeze instead," Bethany muttered, pulling some seaweed off with a grimace.

"It's not so bad," Merrill replied.

"Suppose I've always been used to the water being a bit nipply," Hawke said, and Isabela laughed, splashing her. Struggling through into the shallower water near Anders, her eyes glinted," Now ser, you are simply too dry."

As he opened his mouth to reply, Hawke tackled him into the waves.


	8. Wills and Ways

"Wait, where are you going?"

Hawke stopped outside the door, "To Hightown."

Bethany crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at her sister, "And what are you doing in Hightown?"

"Busking for coin," Hawke said, turning down the steps. When Bethany didn't follow, she swung back around. Her sister-mage was still at the top of the stairs. "To ... visit Fenris."

"And when did you plan on telling me that?" Bethany threw her hands up. "I think that man would gladly see me in the gutter. I'm not going."

"I won't let him hurt you," Hawke smirked. "Or do you think I cannot handle the little wolf?"

Bethany came halfway down the stairs, arms still crossed, "I know how much you enjoy getting under everyone's skin, Marian, but I - I'm just going to go to the market. Aveline is off shift soon."

Looking up from the landing, Hawke rolled her eyes and sighed a smile, "Very well, dear sister. I understand, the lyrium is simply too much for you."

"What?"

Hawke stepped up to Bethany, patting her hand, "I would hate for you to lick him or something. It must be unbearable to resist."

Making a frustrated sound, Bethany pushed her away and said, "Just go! And I'll be here by supper so we may go to the house. We will still go?"

"Yes," Hawke said, grinning and stumbling unnecessarily. "Be ready."

Following the paths she knew well, Hawke walked through the back streets up to Hightown, narrowly avoiding a checkpoint. Past the ascent to the Viscount's keep, she kept her head down and made it to the quiet corner of the residential district. Thought she had been to visit Aveline with the city guard a few times, it was difficult to escape the sensation of too many eyes following her. Hawke knew she didn't belong in Hightown. The few times she had visited Fenris night had already fallen.

Hawke leant against the frame and knocked on the wide door of the mansion, looking up the dirty walls. Knocking again, she waited a few minutes more, before testing the knob. Glancing into the street, she covertly picked the lock and slipped in.

"Hello?" Hawke called out as she closed the door. No lamps were lit, and the curtains were drawn, leaving the mansion dark. There were still bloodstains on the rug, dark and unrecognizable. At least the smell had gone. She could hear movement deeper in the house.

Walking through the main hall, Hawke turned down a corridor, sighing before calling out, "Fenris?" She meandered into the library, plucking a book off the desk there. Flipping through to find her place, she turned and almost sat down.

The fireplace was filled with tomes. That was new. And half of them weren't catching.

"Hawke," Fenris stood in the doorway, and he followed her gaze. "They were his. I can... feel things in them."

"Here I was going to offer coin for firewood," Hawke smiled briefly, smoothing her thumb over the cover of the book in hand. "How have you been keeping? Love what you've done with the place."

Fenris grunted, advancing closer on the balls of his feet, "There is little use settling in - let alone not having any means to do it."

"There is work to be had," she replied, smirking. "If I can earn the gold I need, I don't see why someone with your abilities could not."

"I will not sell myself," he coldly replied, snagging another book from a specific pile. He tossed it into the flames. "They don't all burn. He protected them."

"Could always piss on them afterward? Might garner you the same satisfaction in the end."

Fenris almost laughed, and his shoulders relaxed a bit as he turned back to her, "Something tells me you didn't merely come here to read."

"Oh I don't know, the atmosphere is quite unlike the rest of Hightown," Hawke wistfully said, tapping the book to her lips before putting it down. "Did you need help with anything?"

"I don't need you to watch over me. I've been a fugitive for years. This is not the first time he's made me wait," Fenris replied, sitting on the desk and crossing his arms. There was the sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Well the offer is there."

"Thank you," he begrudgingly replied. "Varric has been of considerable assistance."

"As he is to most," Hawke grinned.

"So why did you come here?"

Hawke exhaled, tapping her fingers on top of the book, "I thought you might wish to help me with something."

"Oh?" Fenris said, moving again. "And why is that."

"Slavers in a nearby house," Hawke casually said, arching her brow. "Interested?"

* * *

Hawke's head popped up from the bed, and she pushed her hair from her eyes. The light was dim, but the smell gave it away - the Hanged Man. Maker's breath, she was at the Hanged Man. There was no telling the time. As an afterthought to her mother's worry, she looked down, putting a hand over her breasts - she was down to her undershirt and smalls.

"Fuck," she sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as the dizziness washed over her. Her head was pounding.

"Have some nice beauty rest, messere?"

Varric. She was half-naked in Varric's suite at the Hanged Man. Hawke groaned as her stomach churned, and all thoughts of her predicament fled as she poured out of the bed. She grabbed a pot by the side of the bed as she retched.

"Nice view," Varric muttered from the end of the bed.

Hawke sucked in some air, struggling to swallow as she turned her cheek and said, "Are you staring at my ass?"

"Admittedly, it's hard not to," Varric said with a sigh. "But that's not the chamber pot."

"Ohh Maker," Hawke groaned, slumping sideways on the floor as the world spun. "What did I do?"

There was the clink of a mug on the small table beside Hawke, and a bright flare as Varric lit a lamp. He chuckled, "I think it'd be more accurate to list what you didn't do. Drink that. Something Blondie left for you. And don't worry, I sent word to your mother that you're alive."

"Fuck," she groaned again, forcing herself up to grab the mug. Clutching it to her lips, Hawke downed the bitter liquid within before dropping it and rolling to sit against the wall. Varric was on the bed, looking quite smug. "You look rather pleased."

"Rarely a dull moment with you as a friend, Hawke," he chuckled.

"Just a dull throb in my head," Hawke murmured, cringing and looking down. Tugging the front of her undershirt open, she said, "Andraste's fucking tits."

"Not quite," Varric replied, "Though it was certainly entertaining! I thought it would have taken more convincing on Isabela's part."

"You let her pierce my bloody tit?"

"Wasn't much blood," Varric waved a hand, offering another glass. "You took it like a man - well, something tells me most humans would squeal. Even Blondie twitched more than you."

"I'm so very classy," Hawke drank the water, gingerly cupping her breast. Her voice was gravelly, "What did he get pierced?"

Varric chuckled and said, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Em, yes? I did ask," Hawke rolled her eyes open at him. She waggled her brow, "What about you? It cannot be more titillating than mine.'

"I'm content enough with the holes in my body," Varric smirked.

Head hanging heavy as some of the lethargy cleared with the tonic, Hawke murmured, "I could certainly use with a few of mine getting plugged."

"A few?" Varric laughed, shaking his head. "Hawke, you're dog."

"Ferelden through and through," she sighed, eyes half-lidded as she looked back at him. "Or is there another reason I'm in your bed?"

"It would be unfair of me to divulge such information," Varric replied, standing as he did. "Besmirch Bianca's chaste ears."

"Bastard dwarf," Hawke said, hauling herself back up onto his bed. "I am confiscating this location for the remainder of the day."

"Not much left of it," he replied with a chuckle. "But make yourself at home." When he glanced back, Hawke had passed out again, face first on his pillow.


	9. Varric's Version: The Hangover

**Varric's Version: The Hangover**

* * *

Though you may not know it with how the Champion can drink these days - and drink she does - but there was time when Hawke frequented the Hanged Man any spare evening she could. She was willing to take any drink offered, but rarely able to hold it - before we'd made our fortune in the Deep Roads, before the qunari rose in the streets. Not sure I would believe it myself, if I hadn't seen her through those years.

The particulars of what led to that evening don't matter much, but what happened would stay with Hawke for years to come. Locked in my suite upstairs were no less than three apostates, two elves, a pair from the Blooming Rose, and a pirate. The Champion and I proposed a game of skill and wit - the contest of who is better continues to this day.

Through the rounds, we stayed neck and neck, lock picking, drinking poisons - liquor and otherwise - fire eating, and diversions of literary merit: Harem awakin, Awake in harm, something about hair tracts... Nevermind, it doesn't matter.

Of course, being the debonair dwarf I am, none were my parallel - except for Hawke. The games of diamondback and blindman's bluff left our compatriots stripped to their smalls, and our challenges grew more ludicrous by the pint.

I bet Hawke that I could shoot an apple off of Daisy's head from across the room, and no sooner was it said, than a bolt form my beloved Bianca's rack was pinning one to the wall. Hawke countered, and another unfortunate fruit was tossed in the air, only to be cleaved neatly in two with a flick of my friend's wrist, embedding her dagger in the far wall. We howled in turn as we did shots of Golden Scythe from my private stock, and a bit Blondie called Lava Burst, brought over from Ferelden. The ancestors would have been proud.

It came as no surprise when floating and burning amidst the liquor, Hawke's mind took a turn for the worse.

"I'm not certain there is more that I can be better at than you," Hawke said, raising the stakes yet again.

"Oh?" I replied, still able to keep a modicum of composure as I drank. "I'm sure you'll think of somewhere else you come up short."

"I think that's your job, dwarf," she said, smacking the lady pirate beside her awake. "You must know how to properly do piercing," she said.

"Of course I do, my slippery nipple," the buxom, dark-haired Rivaini replied. "Let me get my things." And the lush staggered down the hall to her room.

So I asked Hawke what she had in mind, reclining further in my chair. By now, the rest of our companions had lost the war, and were strewn about my suite in various stages of disarray and drunkard dream. I tapped my ear, "I'm already up on you for piercings."

"Then I'll get my brow pierced," she said.

I said it didn't sound so bad.

Hawke leant forward on the table, a glint in her eye. She tapped her chin, "My lip."

"Please, beautiful," I replied with a laugh. "That's child's play."

"My nipple then," Hawke countered, and I could only smirk.

"Hardly threatening."

Rivaini was in the doorway again, brandishing a flame and a needle. Hawke narrowed her eyes at me, leaning close. "Lower then," she said with seductive intent.

Needless to say, I let Hawke win that round, and walk away with a new gem between her thighs.


	10. Bas'Saarebas

Hawke's mouth dropped as she raised her hands and stumbled back, the qunari mage bursting into flames before her eyes. She must have yelled out, because Anders, Varric and Fenris came running. But when Anders raised his hands to freeze the serebas, it was too late.

"What did you do?" Anders demanded, kneeling down to check the caged man's pulse. "He's dead."

"Me?" Hawke shook her head, "Why do you assume it's me?"

"Because it usually is," Varric murmured, earning a reproachful glance.

"I stab things, not set them on fire," Hawke said, uncharacteristically flustered. "He set himself aflame, he said he wanted to… die by the Qun."

"Perhaps he is doing us all a favour," Fenris muttered.

"It'd be better if mages just put ourselves out of misery, then?" Anders said, standing up and wiping off his hands.

"It's certainly an option," Fenris narrowed his eyes.

"Quiet," Hawke snapped, huffing before more quietly saying, "What do we do?"

"She knew," Varric said, "That sister from the chantry."

"I meant about him," Hawke sighed, scratching her brow. "We can't just leave him here."

They were quiet a moment before Fenris said, "He set himself aflame. We should honour his wishes, and let his body turn to ash."

"What drives a person to this?" Hawke quietly said, furrowing her brow.

"When there's no hope," Anders replied, drawing on the Fade to relight the qunari mage. "When the world seems against you – when it convinces you that you are a curse and a blight."

"Maybe because you are," Fenris said, shaking his head. "He made his choice." The elf turned back towards the path and had walked some 10 yards before he looked back, "Are we just going to watch him burn?"

Anders clenched his hand into a fist, closing his eyes with fragile control.

He backpedalled to where Hawke waited for him. Fenris had already left, and Varric was staggered closer. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to lay blame."

"You couldn't know," Hawke shrugged. "You look out for your own."

"Perhaps," Anders said, taking her side to follow the elf. "But so do you."

"Indeed," she arched her brow, a dark glint in her eye. "Let us return and find this holy sister who so delightfully sent us to our deaths."

* * *

"Please Anders," Hawke said, leading up the path back to Kirkwall proper. "You're a Grey Warden -"

"Was a Grey Warden," he replied, eyes down.

"I don't know, a little bird informed me that it isn't the sort of thing you can so easily walk away from," Hawke replied, and they stopped on the path. He rolled his eyes, and she continued. "You've experience with darkspawn."

"Something I was trying to leave behind," Anders said, furrowing his brow. "I'm in the city to take care of people... to look after those the rest have forgotten."

"It's alright," Bethany said with a sigh, "Sister, we'll make it on our own. Or we'll find another - you've not given Bartrand the gold yet, right?"  
"Not yet," Varric chirped, smirking. "And I've got the bulk of it secured for you, so she can't drink it away."

Hawke growled a bit and shrugged Bethany's hand, "Let's go." She continued walking. Varric and Bethany glanced at Anders, before they all followed in relative silence. The road narrowed as they rounded a cliff and came in sight of the City of Chains.

"Halt!"

Hawke's hand naturally fell to the dagger on her belt as she stepped up and said, "How now, good sers."

A trio of templars advanced on them from a junction in the path, "Ferelden - we have come this way tracking a powerful maleficar. You would do wise to submit to our query."

"A curious thing," Hawke replied, easily smiling as her companions flanked her. "For we have seen no other travellers this afternoon."

The second templar spoke, "I felt it, lieutenant, I swear."

"A pity," Hawke said through her teeth, motioning to her friends to continue on. Anders moved slowly, clenching a hand. "Perhaps the evening shall bring you better fortune."

"Stand your ground," the lieutenant said. "You are not merchants or bandits, what business have you on the road?"

"It is hardly your concern -"

Varric raised a hand and light-heartedly chuckled, "You'll have to excuse my charge, she is being delivered to her husband-to-be. As much as she does not wish it, I will not go against my master and submit to her wishes."

"Truly, Hubric, I will not let you -"

"You," the templar cut Hawke off, pointing at Bethany. "Then what are you doing with them."

"I - she is my sister," Bethany replied, furrowing her brow. "I would see her... see her through this hard time."

"And this is our eunuch," Varric motioned back to Anders, before saying. "Come, his lordship does not appreciate tardiness."

"Right," the templars stepped into the path, blocking their way. "I suppose the five-o-clock shadow is just dirt. You will all be required to come in for questioning."

"You have no right to do this," Bethany said, though her voice wavered.

"Come quietly, and there is no harm done," the lieutenant said, his voice tempered. "With nothing to hide, you and your kin should not fear our queries."

"None the less," Hawke laughed a little, casually placing herself in front of Anders and Bethany. "We have done nothing wrong, nor are you city guards to hold us. Certainly I could have you at my estate when I am wed to thank you for your oversight."

Anders' eyes flickered blue, and each templar tensed to draw their sword, a call of surprise on their lips. "We shall find truth in action."

Hawke cursed and drew her blades, upon one of the templars before he could react, her dagger buried into his armpit. With a jerk of her wrist, she rendered his sword arm useless, and he shrieked in pain. They grappled, and she was forced to kick back, scrambling on the ground as a blossom of fire lit around her.

A bolt staggered the second templar, as he tried to catch Bethany, and the delay gave Hawke time to stab deep in his lower back. More blood on her hands, she caught a glancing swing of his sword, staggering before wedging her dagger up under his helmet. Crumpling backwards, her leg gave out.

Hawke blinked in a daze as the flash of magic lit around her, and in a moment is was over. She fell back, laughing a bit as she asked, "They're dead then?"

"Yes," Bethany said, hurrying to her sister's side. "You idiot, rushing in."

"You didn't hesitate," Anders said, his eyes returned to their melancholic furrow.

"How could I?" Hawke said, "Need to be quick. You're alright?"

"Of course I am," Bethany said, snapping open some of her sister's armour. Strain crept into her voice, "You're bleeding."

"Just a flesh wound," Hawke grimaced as she tried to move.

"Here," Anders said, joining them on the ground. "Keep still."

Hawke let herself fall back as the odd tingle of magic seeped through, and she sighed as the harsh throb abated. She looked at the sky, touching to her blood soaked clothes.

"You should be able to put weight on it," Anders said, offering his hand alongside Bethany to help Hawke up. "But I'll look at it again when we're safe."

"I'm certain you will," Hawke waggled a brow. "I may have some other things needing inspecting." Bethany groaned.

"If you're alive, we need to move," Varric said, watching the path ahead. "And we need to get rid of the bodies."

Shoving the bodies off the cliff into the sea, Hawke moved with a defined hobble, and she hurried them back towards the city.

"It's days like this I don't think staying in Kirkwall is the brightest idea," Hawke said under her breath.

"Yes, but it's where mother wants to be," Bethany replied, "And that's the least we can do."

"Besides," Varric said, "You've yet to come spelunking with me in the deep."

"That sounds perverse," Hawke smirked before sighing, and giving Bethany's hand a squeeze. "You're right, we have to stay. We'll make it our home, I know."

* * *

Anders sat with his mouth silenced on a closed fist as Varric laughed and talked with a few of the tavern's patrons. Hawke came back into the suite with a defined swagger, arm linked with Bethany's. Letting her sister go and snagging a tankard from the table, she sank into the seat beside him.

"And how is my favourite abomination," Hawke drawled, draping an arm around him.

"Please, it is hardly some joke," Anders replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"That is where you are wrong," she replied. "It is all one big joke on us. It's just a matter of whether you get the punch line or not."

"How is your thigh," he redirected, leaning back as she withdrew her arm.

"It is still there," Hawke nodded, waggling her brow. "Were you wanting to take a look?"

"Perhaps I spend too much time around the infirm," Anders said. "Ensuring it heals properly seems the least I can do."

Hawke nodded and sat up more, "Varric! I'm using your room."

Varric paused in his conversation and raised a hand in consent, lips in a wide rakish grin.

Hauling back up out of her chair, Hawke wobbled back and sat down on the bed. Cringing, she unbuckled part of her armour, "Ah shit. At least the coverlet is red, mm?"

"You shouldn't drink so much when you're hurt," Anders said, letting the curtain door drop closed.

"Well I did really want one," Hawke replied, sitting up on her elbows. She let him take her leg and pull the rest of the armour off.

"I don't know how safe it is to use magic here," he said, pulling a poultice from one of the pouches on his belt. "It will take longer."

Sucking a breath through her teeth, she replied, "I don't mind so much. This is rather comfortable."

"I can imagine," he grinned weakly, bandaging the poultice to the partially healed laceration down her leg. It took some time, and Hawke watched him.

"So are you?"

"Am I what?"

Hawke sucked some air, cheeks flushed from the drink, "A eunuch like Varric suggested?"

"No," Anders laughed, smoothing the cloth over her thigh.

"Then I don't suppose you'd scratch an itch for me?" Hawke asked, sitting up as Anders moved. She caught his hand against her thigh.

"It - it's very tempting," Anders replied, looking down.

"I sense a but..." Hawke pouted slightly.

"It would be inappropriate," he said, turning his hand in hers before pulling away. "Thank you for earlier. With the templars. I never... expect to be defended."

"I won't let them take Bethany," Hawke shrugged as though it were the simplest thing. "Why would I let them take you either?"

"Get some rest tonight?" Anders said, clearing his throat and shifting backward uncomfortably. He pulled a few leaves from his belt, "Chew this if there's pain. No more drinking."

"We'll see," she snagged the herb, popping one in her mouth.

Anders hesitated by the curtain, looking back briefly before saying, "If you do really need me, I'll come with you into the Deep Roads. Seems the least I can do."

"The least you can do is nothing," Hawke murmured, drooping back on the bed. She lazily smiled, "That wasn't for pain was it."

"It will ensure you get some rest," Anders said with a slight grin. "Sweet dreams, Hawke."

"Marian's the name to cry," she murmured, lead eyes closing. "Marian."


	11. Promises Promises

Hawke didn't turn as she heard grunting behind her, sitting on the roof of Gamlen's house to look at the ocean. With her chin on her hand, she watched the sunrise in the distance.

"Maker's breath," Anders muttered, panting a bit as he walked over. "Bethany said I'd find you up here... I thought it'd be easier."

"And you expected me to make something easy for you?" Hawke said with false bravado. "Shows what you know."

"Too true," he murmured, shifting his weight. He looked towards the sun, quiet a while. Finally, he looked at her and said, "I wanted to check and see how you were doing... what happened at the Blooming Rose was unsettling."

"Oh, you know me," Hawke replied, dropping her arms down. "Always up for a little forceful play."

Anders cleared his throat, crossing his arms before meandering closer, "It's alright to be upset by it. I know mages do some terrible things."

"People do them," she replied, closing her eyes and running her hand around her neck. There was a thin line of clotted blood, scarce noticeable. "We're all just terrible people, no matter."

"But it does matter," Anders finally sat beside her, dangling his legs off the building. "I'm sorry I didn't notice what was happening sooner."

"Indeed, I should be hurt you weren't more eager to watch me cavort with an exotic prostitute," Hawke looked at him, her eyes heavy with fatigue. She pouted falsely.

"She's dead, at least," he said, his brow knitting together as Hawke caressed her neck again. "Maybe I worry too easily."

Hawke closed her eyes, her voice softening, "I've just never had anything like that happen before. I was looking out of my eyes, listening to my voice - but I had no control. And suddenly I was nearly killing myself – and not with bad puns."

"Anyone would have been disturbed by it," Anders said. He offered her a satchel, "I thought you might want this. A tea, it might help you sleep."

"Always trying to drug me," Hawke smiled a bit, looking at him. "You know, I'd rather be awake if you're going to take advantage of me."

Anders shook his head with a sigh. They both looked at the sun again, its rays finally stretching above the rooftops. The air was humid, and a fog hung over the water.

"Is that what it's like for you?" Hawke quietly said, toying with the satchel of tea. "With Justice?"

"In some ways," Anders said, a shadow over his eyes. "It is part of me, yet so foreign. Something born deep within that grows into a monster all its own."

"Should I be offering to tame the beast?" Hawke grinned slightly.

"Please don't," he quietly said, looking into his lap. "Maybe I shouldn't have come."

"Hardly," Hawke said, leaning against him. She lifted the satchel, "I needed my head medicine. And you needed to see a sunrise to see beyond the night."

* * *

"I can't believe you're making me stay here!" Bethany said, throwing her hands up in frustration.

Hawke closed the door to the small room, returning to her pack to lash a few more flasks and poultices to its growing girth, "It's not safe down there. I won't have kept you from the templars all these years just to see you lost to some darkspawn. Or have you forgotten what happened to Ser Wesley?"

"No, I remember," Bethany's voice weakened, and she sat down on a crate. "It is just going to be very lonely without you. So who is going then?"

"Anders said he would come," Hawke replied, drawing in a breath as she sat beside her sister and honed one of her daggers. "And Merrill seemed interested."

"You're bringing the blood mage instead of me?"

"Indeed," Hawke replied with a taciturn grin, "She seemed more expendable."

Bethany laughed emptily, putting her head down in her hands. There was the quiet sound of stone over veridium before she finally said, "I suppose I didn't really want to go anyway."

"I know," Hawke chuckled.

"Some part of me feels like I should be there with you. My magic could be of so much use." Bethany murmured, watching her sister's hands. "That I could look out for you for a change."

"I leave mother in your capable hands," Hawke wrapped an arm around Bethany. "Who else could I trust to keep our dear uncle from making our situation in the city worse?"

"So when does the expedition leave?"

"Two days," Hawke said, eyes down again. "And you should have a few weeks to prepare the celebratory feast for our return. After which we shant have to worry about money or anything like that again."

"If mother gets the estate," Bethany said, looking at the door.

"She is more persuasive than she seems," Hawke chuckled.

Bethany stood up, "I'll be back later."

Hawke raised a brow.

"Just some errands I forgot."

"As long as you don't wear the 'I'm an apostate' sign," Hawke murmured, inspecting the blade in her hand.

"But I was so tempted," Bethany rolled her eyes and left the room.

The air was damp with an ocean breeze as Bethany snuck down to Darktown, keeping her hood up through the clogged passages of makeshift, shanties where her fellow countrymen to struggled to survive. She went to where the lantern was lit. There was a group of individuals at the back, amidst which she could recognize Anders. There was a cry of pain that muffled against the walls, and she hurried closer.

"Please keep him still, I must get the metal out," Anders said, his voice eerily calm.

"Can I help?"

Anders did a double take, up to his wrists in blood as he manipulated the knife on the man's leg, "Bethany – please, yes. Of course."

"Please stand back," Bethany softly said, jostling to kneel by the man's head. "Just stay calm, you're in good hands." With a quiet word, she drew upon the Fade, an ephemeral glow about the man's head, and he sighed. His family stepped back to sit on a cot as Anders quickly worked. He soon dropped a metal shard off the table, and healed the wound.

"You should be alright to work," he said, grabbing a cloth to wipe his hands. "But go easy on it. It still needs time to heal further."

The man sat up, cheeks flushed and a sweat on his brow as he looked at his leg. "Thank you, serah. More than I can say. And to you, miss."

Bethany stood up, rubbing her hands together as she gave a quick nod, "Hardly much on my part, Anders is the real healer."

They helped him off the table, and he pulled on his pants, soon leaving with his family close behind. Anders gave her a damp cloth and she wiped her hands as he tried to scrub the blood off his own.

"He was panicking," Anders said, looking down. "So many do. They are so desperate for any coin, if they cannot work… but I digress. What brings you here?"

"My sister said you agreed to go with her into the Deep Roads. I wanted to thank you," Bethany replied, following him to the back of the clinic.

"Oh," Anders said, an odd grin on his lips. "Well, seemed the right thing to do. Some business about being a former Grey Warden and all. Are you coming?"

"No," Bethany said, "Marian doesn't think it best."

"That's good," he replied, and his voice dropped. "It's not a pleasant place. You'll do better having never seen it, I promise."

"I see," Bethany quietly chuckled. She looked at her hands, before asking, "You know some days it's surprising. Our father was always trying to keep me from harm – just like Marian does. Nevermind what trouble she ran and got into."

"Has she always been so capable?" Anders smiled tiredly, and Bethany followed as he walked back to wipe the blood from the table.

"Here, let me," she took another cloth and worked opposite him. "As long as I remember, Marian was always there as my shield. Father always said that she would be, that I could always look to her."

"You're very lucky to have each other," Anders softly said.

"I know," Bethany replied, hesitating. "I know I've said it before, but you remind me of him. It's been good to have you around."

Anders looked away. "It's been odd having people to… fit in with here."

"I cannot know how hard life must be for you," Bethany said, "With your struggle. But you're a good person."

"Thank you for thinking so," Anders' voice wavered.

Bethany pursed her lips as she stopped, "But none of this is why I came here… could you do something for me, Anders?"

"Anything for a fellow mage," he chuckled.

Weakly smiling, Bethany twisted the dirty cloth as she said, "Would you look out for my sister? When you're in the Deep Roads? She might act invincible, but I… I don't know what I'd do if she doesn't come home. Or what it would do to mother."

Anders stopped, turning over his thoughts before he smiled thinly, "I will. So will Varric, I've no doubt."

"He's got a heart of gold, I know, but I…" Bethany exhaled.

"I promise I'll bring her back," Anders said with a nod.

Bethany unknotted her fingers, "Thank you. I owe you one."


	12. Six Feet Under

* * *

"Bartrand!" Varric punched the door again, unfazed by smashing his fist into the stone.

"Do I have pants on?" Hawke quietly asked. When her companions turned to look at her, she smiled emptily, "When these sort of things happen, I usually find myself without pants. No? They're there - see? Things could always get worse."

Varric twitched, exhaling hard as he murmured, "I hate when you say things like that."

They trudged down dead ends and half collapsed caverns for hours, fighting spiders, golems and more. When Varric finally halted, they were exhausted. He led them into an isolated nook that looked like it may have once been a home.

Merrill wilted to the ground, "What are we going to eat?"

"There were some deep mushrooms back the way we came," Varric said, the furrow in his brow deep. "Come on, Daisy. Let's go find what we can."

"Trust the surfacer dwarf to guide us in the deep," Hawke murmured, and he flicked her off before ducking out the door. She crawled through the rubble towards a glow at the back of the hollow. Hoisting herself up, she sat along a broken ledge, features illuminated by the pit of lava in view. She glanced back when she heard Anders slip on the loose rock.

"We'll make it out of here somehow," he said, offering her his water skein.

Hawke looked at him before taking a sip, "What is this from you? Optimism? You haven't contracted the blight from one of those darkspawn, have you?"

"I think I'm the one we least have to worry about," Anders dryly replied.

"Indeed," she said, looking back at the lava. Even from where she sat, she could feel the heat radiating off of it. It was the brightest light they'd come across since being trapped.

Flipping a dagger from her hip, Hawke looked down and twirled the blade in her fingers. It spun nimble as she murmured, "I'm sorry for roping you into joining us."

"I did offer in the end," Anders shrugged, moving to sit nearby. He sighed and leant against the wall, following her gaze. "How are you doing?"

"Rainbows and sunshine," Hawke murmured. "And frolicking kittens in verdant meadows."

"I always pegged you as a dog person," he replied.

Hawke's expression cracked into a slight grin as she looked at him, "I am."

"Of course then," he said, sucking on his teeth. "Hence the kittens. It's indicative of how up a creek without a paddle or boat we are."

"I believe the more eloquent version of that is, we're fucked," Hawke nodded, still twirling her dagger. The thin smile faded.

"We'll make it out," Anders finally replied. He shrugged and said, "At least there's no darkspawn?"

"Don't be so sure," Hawke murmured.

"Fancy that," Anders said as he turned away. "It might be the one thing I can be sure of."

* * *

Hawke sat and toyed with the small metallic puzzle-toy they had found – some antique, by Varric's accounting. She sat in the shaft of light that descended from the fractured ceiling. It glowed blue and held no warmth, emanating from an unseen vein of lyrium. But if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back home in Lothering on a winter day. She had lost track of the days, and didn't care if it night-blinded her.

The click of the toy in her hands was the only sound above the sleeping breath of her companions. Click. A pregnant silver-sword of mercy. Click. A rather demented shepherd's crook.

"Hmm."

There was a sharp intake of breath nearby, and Hawke turned her head to see Anders shudder. His hands shook from where he laid on the ground, and she crouched near him, taking his shoulder.

"Anders," she whispered, giving him a little shake.

His hand gripped her arm, a shimmer of blue fracturing over his skin. When he opened his eyes to her, the light faded, and he huffed out a breath.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, looking at her arm.

Anders uncoiled his fingers, sitting up from the pillow of his coat. He exhaled roughly, running his hands up over his face, "Figuratively speaking."

Hawke furrowed her brow, sinking back to the ground beside him as she glanced at Varric and Merrill. They were both still sleeping. She patted the light beside her, "Come soak up some sun."

After a moment's hesitation, he shuffled to sit beside her. There were dark circles under his eyes - deeper than her own. Anders thickly licked his lips, "Are you thirsty?"

"Figuratively speaking," she murmured, weakly smiling through closed lips.

Snagging some bandages from his belt, Anders froze them and handed her the clunky bit of ice. They had run out of water some time ago.

"I'll refrain from commenting on how you're giving me something to suck," Hawke arched her brow and sucked on the icy cloth.

"Such restraint," he groggily replied, sucking the frozen water from his own rag.

"Dreams?" Hawke asked through the melting ice.

"In part," he quietly said, freezing another chunk on the cloth with a wave of his hand. "Down here it seems to alternate between the darkspawn threat and... and Justice."

"You dream about them?"

"Wardens see the horde, we sense them," he quietly said, looking down. He closed his eyes before lifting his face into the shaft to flight. "And Justice... is always there, never needing rest. I wake, and there is a weight for all the time I've lost. It is almost a panic, though I know I cannot recover it."

"He must not be very happy being down here."

"I suppose not, Anders sighed, his expression sagging. "The dreams were worse in Ferelden - the Deep Roads were clogged with so many more darkspawn. Specifically going down here to fight them. It smelt worse. And the company was... lacking."

"But not now?"

"No," he said, sucking on the icy cloth a moment more. "Not now. And... he can feel the lyrium. It sings."

Hawke looked up the shaft of light, sighing out, "Care to translate what it's saying?"

Anders' lips quirked and he shook his head, "Nothing so simple. But it's calming."

"Lucky that," Hawke murmured. Putting the wet bandage on her knee, she took up the toy again. Leaning against Anders' back, she twisted it with slow clicks. Finally, she linked her finger through the loop on it and tried to suppress her grin. "You know, Anders, I'm not sure this was such an innocent toy."

Anders shifted, ducking his head out of the light to look in her hand. His expression twisted, and he cleared his throat, "Is that…"

Hawke was holding a metallic penis.


	13. Varric's Version: The Deep Roads

**Varric's Version: The Deep Roads**

* * *

Saving for months to earn a place in my brother's expedition, Hawke bade farewell to her family and found herself a week underground alongside two apostates and a troupe of dwarves.

As if darkspawn, ogres, and underground dragons weren't bad enough, once within the primeval thaig a greater threat awaited us. Betrayal. Enraptured by greed, my once brother Bartrand had sealed us to our fate in a cathedral of stone, shadowed in the glow of ancient magic. Suddenly all the wealth in the world mattered little, in face of the starving thirst we were staring down. You might not believe what happened there, if I hadn't trekked that long walk down the Deep Roads with them.

Traversing by magelight, we struggled through the haunted tomb of the thaig. Demons rose from the shadows, testing our resolve, and mythic creatures of stone rose to meet us, dulling our blades and bruising our weakened limbs. Forced to live off lichen and mushrooms, we spent our time imagining ways my brother might die - it was our only hope as we struggled in the dark. Ancestors only know how my kin live in such places. I hope I never have to return.

The wraiths, the shades and the profane - souls trapped in the rock itself, living upon it, sieving the lyrium with unearthly hunger. There was no way to see or plan for their presence, the unholy magic sustaining them appearing out of the very walls. Bits of stone would gather, a foul energy in their core and a ghastly shriek in the air.

Blondie and Daisy struggled with us - it was obvious the lyrium veins that followed us tugged at their need, like a bottle calls the drunkard. I don't know what luck it was that kept Hawke at our head, but I'm glad it was her the demon approached.

It was a skeletal being of rock, pure energy and light, a bare skull with red eyes peering down upon us. It spoke eloquently, offering passage and freedom - so long as we leave the souls upon which it fed at peace. Hawke has never been one to broker with demons, and would hear none of it.

I've made mention of the demons and creatures we felled, but they were child's play to what we found in the cavern beyond the demon. The air was stale, and the stone glowed red, the likes of which I've never seen. It cast the ancient vault in a ghastly light. It seemed easy enough to cross through and escape out the far door.

Grinding stone grated our senses, a light filling the dark and I had to shield my eyes. It felt like the air sucked away, and I felt the tremor vibrate in my skin. When the light died, the earth heaved, and the behemoth screeched to life – a being of rock four times Hawke's size was barrelling towards us. A rock wraith of myth.

I don't know how we'd have made it if not for the mages – for all the templars say, they are damned useful. Hawke darted at the creature's feet, distracting it with the tinny smack of her blades on the rock, narrowly avoiding a swinging stalactite. We fought it for over an hour, the cavern around us beginning to crumble, decimated and half-collapsed, and it seemed too late when Daisy – that sprite of an elf – raised her hands.

Lightning leapt from her fingertips, crackling up the wraith's limbs like a cage, and its bellow left a ringing in the ears. Hawke seized the chance and leapt upon its back, driving her dagger into the luminous skull that glared out from its core. The bloody light that made its limbs flared, and the ephemeral bone shattered, throwing Hawke to the ground and nearly pinning her under the landslide of its limbs.

It was only when the choking dust cleared we saw it was no more – a pile of rubble was strewn about the Champion's prone body. Magic tickled her limbs, and Hawke coughed awake, sitting up to survey her surroundings.

And promptly ask for a drink.


	14. Are We There Yet

"Hawke."

The voice sounded hazy and distant, barely piercing the metered throb that absorbed the world.

"Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes!"

That dwarf. It sounded like that dwarf. But it seemed so nice to finally lie down…

"Stand back," another man said.

"Sweet Creators, what are we going to do now? What else can possibly go wrong?"

"Mind not saying things like that, Daisy?"

There was a hum under her skin, familiar in a way, and it rose through where the throb and pulse was, tingling into her limbs. Hawke rolled and her eyes willed open, night blind amidst the bluish glow that enveloped her. Cringing as she breathed in, the rogue clutched her side with a heavy groan. Merrill, Anders and Varric were huddled around her.

"Why such the long faces," Hawke softly murmured, blinking lengthily. "Did someone kick your puppy?"

"Shit, Hawke," Varric almost laughed, though his cheeks were drawn. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you liked getting smacked around."

"Only by the right men," she said, lying her head back down. There was rock overhead and the lyrium ore around them glowed, contrasting with the peculiar red stone. "We're alive though?"

"Just barely," Varric said, sitting down beside her to cradle Bianca close. "Poor girl, it'll be alright. We'll get back to the surface and I'll have you good as new in no time."

"You get maimed by some rock demon thing, and he's more concerned about his crossbow," Anders said, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"It was rather interesting, you can't deny," Merrill said, smiling weakly.

"I'd rather something horribly dull and safe at the moment," Anders murmured. "Preferably with hot water and a pastry of some sort."

"Do we have a way out?" Hawke asked, cringing again as she moved. She hurt everywhere – but at least the pain drove away the gnawing starvation. They had been living off of lichen and deep mushrooms. The taste was… lacking, to say the least.

"We were a little more concerned with making sure you were still alive," Anders said, catching her arm as she stumbled. He glanced at Varric, "Well, some of us."

"It's alright, baby," Varric said, gingerly shouldering Bianca. "You're still beautiful to me."

"Come on," Hawke rasped, limping away.

"I'm not sure how much more my magic can do," Anders said, cautiously eyeing her. "Do any of you have anymore elfroot?"

They all shook their head, and Hawke scarce looked back, "They're all gone. Unless we should have been stingy with them?"

Anders shuddered and shook his head, "No… no, we needed them."

"Lovely to hear," Hawke replied, trying to sound light-hearted. She pointed, "Come on, search about. That demon said there was a key. And Maker be damned if we make it out of here without something to our name."

"That's why I like you, Hawke," Varric chuckled, wandering off. "Always thinking of the bottom line."

"I just want it bloody well worth our while," she said, closing her eyes as she flagged. She leant against the cold stone. "I'll never hear the end of it if I return home empty handed. I sunk all of my family's gold into this delightful venture."

"Don't remind me," Varric grumbled, shuffling over the stone. He laughed once. "But you can remind me just how wonderful you think I am when you see what I've found."

"Is that for real? Do people just leave treasure and chests lying around like that?" Merrill asked, tilting her head as she stood by Varric.

Eyes filled with light for the first time in days, Varric chuckled and stooped down, "Only for us, Daisy. Only for us."

* * *

"You know, I must say again how glad I am you're more strapping a man than most mages," Hawke said under her breath. They were weighed down with everything they could carry, their pace quickened by the flush of fresh air. "You've certainly got enough spirit."

"Very funny," Anders smirked and looked down.

"My father was much more scholarly a mage," she said, winded as the ascended another path.

"Yet you still learned how to wield a blade rather well," Anders said.

"Well," Hawke grinned, adjusting her load. "I might have forced the issue when I was young - not that he didn't support it. But I was always trying to stab things."

"That certainly explains Bethany's attitude," Varric said, smirking. He walked with the same cavalier grace, despite the weight he bore.

"I didn't bother her nearly as much as Carver did," Hawke defensively replied. She shook her head and looked down. They continued their ascent through the dim tunnel.

"What was he like, your brother?" Merrill asked. "You don't speak of him much. Unless there's a reason for that - should I not be asking? Nevermind that I asked."

"It's alright," Hawke almost laughed, still looking down. "Some may find it rude, but this is my brother we're speaking of. He was a bit of an ass."

"I'm sure he thought just as highly of you," Varric nodded. "Coming from a younger brother."

"Of that I've no doubt," Hawke smirked. "He was always trying to one up me. Bethany had her magic, and I was always slipping out of situations and leaving him holding the bag. So he made sure he was stronger than either of us as we grew up. He could just sit on me if need be."

"He sat on you?" Merrill asked, cheeks hollow and skin sallow. "He didn't really, did he?"

"It was his only defence, honestly," Hawke smirked and straightened as she saw a light ahead. "Thank the Maker."

They hurried out the last few steps, emerging through a cracked, mossy door into a small glade of trees. From their vantage on the mountainside, they could see the shimmering sea in the distance. They each progressively dropped their packs, squinting in the bright light.

"Sweet sky, oh ye I never thought to see again," Varric laughed dryly, puckering his lips at the air. He breathed deep, "Ahh… how my ancestors live down there, I'll never know. They don't know what they're missing."

Hawke partially smiled, putting her hands on her hips as she still struggled to adjust. The sun was warm and the breeze too, stirring her dark brown hair. "I think I might just need to get a sun burn."


	15. Bittersweet

"Home sweet home," Varric said as they trudged past the guards at the city gates. "Think Bartrand will be waiting for me?"

"I hope so," Hawke replied, licking her lips. "I could use breaking someone's nose. Or perhaps I could stab him in the eye - your choice, of course."

"Choices, choices," Varric replied, his eyes sparkling.

Hawke made a motion with her hand, "A stab would feel nice. Like a warm bath."

They trudged through the streets of Lowtown, piling into the dwarf's room at the Hanged Man to unload their goods. The barkeep was none too happy at their state when they walked in.

Hawke graciously accepted the poultice he retrieved, plucking open her armour to press it to her ribs. Closing her eyes, she shuddered, "Maker, thank you."

"Don't thank him, beautiful," Varric said, collapsing into one of his chairs. He waved to the woman waiting in the wings, "Edwina, two ewers of whiskey on my tab. You'll stay, won't you?"

"You know, Isabella kept saying I should try that," Merrill tiredly said, sitting at the other end of the table. "What is it like?"

"Stale piss and sugar," Hawke replied, reaching for a cup as the woman returned and poured. "Thank you kindly."

"Perhaps I'm missing the appeal," Merrill said, taking half a glass and sniffing it oddly. "Smells bad enough to keep the Dread Wolf at bay."

Hawke smacked her lips, putting her cup back down, "It might just be."

"So what do we do now?" Anders asked, slouched as heavily as the rest.

"Eat, drink, and plot revenge?" Varric said with a grin.

"We've been gone a long time," Hawke murmured. "I need to go home to reassure my mother I am not dead."

"Yet you aren't moving," Varric chuckled. "So I'm assuming you simply cannot bear to tear yourself away."

Hawke smirked, drinking the rest of her glass and purred, "For that, I think I might just walk home. Best I get back before dark anyway, seeing as how I'll be stumbling drunk from an empty stomach. You going to come, Merrill?"

"Might be best," she casually said, somehow spry on her feet as she rose. "I could use a bed, I think."

"I'll walk with you," Anders said, pushing his chair back. "I can get back to the clinic more easily."

Varric had his beloved on the table and retrieved an oiled cloth to wipe her down. He spoke with a wistful sigh, "I suppose it is just the two of us then, my dearest."

They took to the streets, the day waning overhead. The sun dipped below the city walls, leaving sharp shadows across the stone underfoot. Their pace was lethargic, to say the least. As they rounded a corner into the slums, Hawke spread her arms and ushered Anders and Merrill into the shadows.

"What is it -" Merrill started, hushing as Hawke waved her hand.

"Templars," Anders hissed, though his face blanked as Hawke jerked away and ran into the square.

"What is the meaning of this?" she called out, and Bethany and Leandra turned.

"Thank the Maker!" her mother cried, accepting a quick hug.

"Harbouring an apostate carries stiff penalties," Knight-Captain Cullen said as he stepped forward. "But given how you have helped our order in the past, I will overlook this grievance."

"You'll take her over my dead body," Hawke hissed, drawing a blade and setting the templars on edge.

"Please, sister!" Bethany pleaded, stepping from her captors to take Hawke's hand and lower the dagger. "It is too late. I will go with them. I'll be alright."

Hawke tore her eyes from the templars, shaking her head absently as she whispered, "I am so sorry. I..."

"I'll be alright," Bethany impressed, letting herself be taken by the templars again. "Take care of mother. And come see me... I'll be alright."

Hawke stared blankly after them as Bethany was led away, her mother's sobbing scarce registering. It was only when Leandra pushed her that she snapped out of it.

"Where have you been?" Leandra cried. "You were supposed to protect her! My baby - your little sister! You were supposed to be here!"

"I know," Hawke whispered, cradling her mother close as she whispered. "I'll save her. I promise, mother."

* * *

Anders accepted a kiss on the cheek from the elderly woman, smiling tiredly as she hobbled away and he closed the door behind her. He gathered up some of the bandaging from one of the benches and dropped them in the washbasin at the back of the clinic. He leant on the table, sighing and closing his eyes. It had been a long day.

Warming the water with a wave of his hand, movement in his periphery caught his attention. Anders reached for his staff, tensing as he said, "I have nothing worth taking, show your – Hawke?"

"Ah – hello," Hawke said, looking up from the nook she sat in. One of the crates behind her shifted, and she caught it, before sitting back down.

"What are you doing here? Are you alright?" Anders relaxed and stirred the bandages in the steaming bowl.

"Of course I am," Hawke laughed falsely, pulling a knee up as she looked at him. "Can't a girl admire a handsome man while he works?"

Anders flapped his lips a moment, grinning as he looked down, "Might be a little creepy when you do it from hiding. I didn't think I'd see you for a while… thought you'd want to spend time with your family."

"I'd intended to," Hawke's voice quieted. "Not sure mother really wants me around right now. Since Bethany was taken to the Circle… she is very upset at me, to say the least."

"I'm so sorry," Anders furrowed his brow, wiping his hands. "I – I should have done something when we saw them."

"No, you shouldn't have," Hawke looked off through the quiet clinic. "The templars are trouble enough for you. I know you scarce made it away."

Hairlines of glowing blue fractured Ander's features, his voice partially wavering into a deeper octave, "They will pay for what they have done." He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath through his nose and shaking his head, "It's hard enough knowing all that's happened…but thinking they took her from you…"

"Then don't think," Hawke was on her feet, and lightly touched his arm. "As much as I enjoy a good show, I've gotten the impression you're not too fond of that glowy nimbus."

"Bethany's a good mage," Anders said, tucking his chin down as he turned away. "She's exactly why we should be free. She's proof of how normal a mage can be."

"She's not that normal," Hawke said with a smirk, hip against the table. "She snores in the most peculiar way, has an unhealthy affinity for bog berries – and that's just the beginning."

Anders chuckled, looking back at her as he tidied the rest of the clinic, "But she's a good person – more than just being a mage. She doesn't deserve to be bound and chained."

"I'm not so certain life is about what we deserve," Hawke replied, crossing her arms and swaying her foot on its heel. "Otherwise, I would most certainly have more gold, jewels, and no fewer than five strapping men eager to wait on my every need, mmm? A pedestal might be nice too."

"I see," Anders grinned, turning back to her. "And what about me?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hawke airily said, brushing a stray hair from her face. "Women? Men? Certainly you would have your share of the wealth – and templars would be outlawed."

"Maybe the old me would have wanted the former," Anders almost laughed, unable to meet her eye. "I don't know how you do it. Take everything so casually – take me so casually."

"A lot of the time it's either laugh and move on or cry and get stuck in the mud," Hawke said before grinning devilishly. "And in case you hadn't caught on, you aren't my first mage,"

"What?" Anders seemed taken aback.

"My father and sister," Hawke laughed, shaking her head. "I've always been around magic. It's never been the bad guy – no matter what I've seen since the Blight. Magic doesn't inherently make people bad, people are good enough at figuring out that on their own."

"I wish there were more people like you," Anders said, lingering close to her.

"There will be," Hawke nodded. "I mean, who wouldn't want to be like me? Of course there will be pretenders and emulators."

Anders shook his head, a distance in his eyes, "Too many to count, I'm sure."

"Thanks for finding me," Hawke said after a moment, looking up to him.

"I – yes," he said, shifting backward. "I wish I could help more."

"Sometimes just not being alone is enough," Hawke said as he distanced himself. "Come with me to the Hanged Man?"

"You know I don't drink," Anders said, trying to busy himself.

"I know," she said. "Come for me?"


	16. Noble Intent

Hawke stiffly walked down the steps of the Gallows, arm around her mother's shoulders as she led them through the winter air – though it was warmer than a Ferelden spring. It was half a year since she had made it back from the Deep Roads expedition – half a year since her sister had become a prisoner.

"It never lessens the pain," Leandra softly said, pulling the scarf on her hair forward. "No matter what she says."

"She is doing well," Hawke said, swallowing her emotion. "It seems she is very well respected amongst her peers. She is helping a great number of children."

"I know, dear," Leandra said, stepping free of Hawke's arm as they walked through the square. "But she could have been so much more."

"She still could be," Hawke casually said, "Let's just hope not while the templars are watching."

Leandra stopped and looked skyward, wiping her eyes with a small pink handkerchief, "Please, Marian. Not now."

Hawke looked down, rocking on her heels as they stood in silence. "We should go to the docks for the mid-day ferry."

Walking towards the gate, Varric joined them in stride, "I thought I might find you here."

"Varric," Leandra said, "What a surprise."

"Indeed, a surprise," Hawke peered at him as they slowed, casually taking the steps down to the dock. "I haven't seen you around lately."

"I've been busy plying my trade," Varric replied, fishing a pouch from his coat. He handed it to Leandra. "I found a buyer for the necklace."

"Certainly it did not fetch this much," she replied, raising her brow.

"No, no," Varric chuckled, "I wouldn't dream of not taking my share."

Hawke grinned and nodded as the dwarf produced the coin for their passage into the city, "Of course not, what sort of merchant would you be then?"

"A broke one," Varric said, and they went and sat in the bow of the small caravel. "But that isn't the real reason I came to meet you here. I intercepted a messenger on the way to your Lowtown estate."

"Really Varric," Leandra softly laughed, sniffing in and looking into the breeze. "Your sense of humour is almost worse than Marian's at times."

"I kid you not madam!" Varric said, grinning widely as he produced the letter.

Hawke took it, and with one glance broke the seal. "It's from the viscount… he's granting us the estate!"

"Blessed Andraste," Leandra looked back as her daughter laid the letter in her hands. She cupped her mouth, shaking her head, "And we've the coin to keep it. I hoped but… if only Bethany and Carver were here."

* * *

Hawke lingered by the doorway as her mother lead into the room. Leandra took Viscount Dumar's extended hand, stooping to kiss the back of it in allegiance.

"Mistress Amell, it is good of you to come," he said with a thin smile.

"It is my pleasure, my lord," Leandra bowed her head, smiling at him. "I wanted to thank you in person for granting my family our estate once more."

"The Amells have always had a home at my family's side," Viscount Dumar replied, walking back along the windows of his office. "If I had known sooner such ill-bred sorts were inhabiting the mansion, I would have acted."

"Thank you, milord," Leandra replied, turning to Hawke. "I wished to present you with my daughter, Marian Hawke."

"Hawke, mm?" The Viscount arched his brow as Hawke advanced forward and properly bowed.

"I have chosen to keep my father's name," Hawke replied, standing once more. "Saves me the trouble of re-stitching it in all my underwear."

"Marian!" Leandra said, paling as she turned to Dumar. She smiled none the less with a soft laughter, "She has quite the spirit and sense of humour. Another remnant from her father."

"Indeed," Dumar said, watching Hawke. "You look familiar."

"It was I who recovered your son Saemus from the Wounded Coast last year," Hawke inclined.

The viscount's brow drew together in consternation as he said, "And I thank you for your discretion. He is… a troubled young man. But hopefully he will be fit to rule in my place some day."

"I have no doubt of it, serah," Hawke replied with a slight grin. "A pleasure making your acquaintance."

"But I digress," the viscount sighed, "We must meet with Seneschal Bran after our repast to discuss some legal matters."

"I will…" Hawke's words fell away as Leandra and Viscount Dumar led into an ancillary room, and she was left standing there. "Lovely." She turned back out into the foyer, almost running into the seneschal.

"You?" Bran asked, tugging down the front of his tunic.

"Yes, me," Hawke said with a wry smile. "Doesn't it simply make your day?"

"What are you doing within the Keep?"

"And here I imagined you to be a man who kept on top of things," Hawke ran a finger over her lips as her voice dropped, "Or is that just at the Blooming Rose?"

"How dare you," Bran said, his cheeks flushing as he looked around. "I should have you thrown out."

"Messere, I am truly shocked," Hawke said, trying not to smile. "Or have you not heard the Amells have regained their place in this fine city-state? I am Mistress Amell's eldest daughter, Marian Hawke."

Glancing towards the viscount's offices, Bran smoothed his fine tunic once more, his eyes hard, "The apple certainly fell far from the tree."

"My poor delicate disposition," Hawke sniffled and turned away, ignoring the nobles whose heads turned she walked. She tossed her hair in disdain, "His lordships shall be hearing of this."

Across the large foyer, Hawke caught sight of Aveline with a trio of guards and hurried over. The initiate guard-captain was staring at her.

"Aveline, what a pleasant surprise!" Hawke said, smiling as she clasped her hands behind her.

"Dismissed," Aveline said, turning to her. "Not even moved in, and you're already turning things over."

"It's like a field, really," Hawke sighed a smile. "You need to till it good every now and then to get rid of the weeds."


	17. Boredom

"Ohhh," Hawke groaned, throwing herself onto the bed as Varric stooped to tie his boots. "Hightown is really quiet dull, you know."

"Just need to know the right places to go," he replied, jerking the straps.

Laying an arm over her face, Hawke asked, "And of course you would know where to go?"

"I might have a few ideas," he smirked, getting up to walk away.

Scooting off his bed, Hawke followed on light steps as he went and finished the glass on the table, "Are you going to tell me, or just hold it over my head?"

"Couldn't if I tried, beautiful," Varric smirked from his lower stature, turning to put a small glass in her hand. "Try that."

Hawke smelled the bluish liquid before downing the shot. Her mouth popped open and she wheezed, raising her brow as she looked down. "There – there's lyrium in there!"

"You never cease to amaze me, Hawke," Varric laughed, taking the glass and sliding it to the other end of the table. There was a burst of activity in the tavern beyond his door, but it went unheeded. "Do you like it?"

"Mm," Hawke smacked her lips, before sucking in a breath. "Of course I do, it feels terribly wrong drinking it."

"Then obviously we should get more," Varric grinned. "For your upcoming party?"

"A party, mmm?" Hawke sat on the end of the table, musing, "Always such a tease, dwarf, out with it."

Varric chuckled and crossed his arms, "How about we go have a little fun?"

Down in the streets, the day waned as the pair made their way to the rooftop of her soon to be home. Hawke crouched beside him and tugged on her leather gloves.

"Going to share your ingenious plan yet?" she arched her brow. "Or leave me wanting as you do far too often."

"I can't help there's not enough of me to go around," Varric chuckled. Shucking a spyglass from his coat, he looked across the square. "One of your new neighbours had a few bottles of blue magus delivered at the end of the month. I was going to obtain them on my own, but I thought you might enjoy the challenge."

"Goodie," Hawke murmured, sitting down on the roof to rewrap a bandage on her forearm.

Varric put the spyglass back in his pocket, smirking, "And that's why we're so good together. I say, let's go rob a place, and you don't ask why, or tell me we have enough gold."

"Should I?" Hawke raised her brow, slowly smiling on her own. "Or should I say how wrong it feels?"

"Only if it's true," he chuckled.

"It is – for a different reason," Hawke said, getting back to her feet. She surveyed the surrounding roofs. "No little sister squeaking for me to stop."

* * *

Varric cursed as the tumblers slipped again, and over his shoulder Hawke chided with soft titter. "Laugh it up, Hawke."

"Oh believe me," she whispered. "I am. This should find its way into that book of yours."

"Put your money where your mouth is then," Varric stood up, pushing off the chest to go to the window. He watched the street through the neatly cut hole in the glass. "Five gold."

"Make it ten if you're serious."

"Fine," he grumbled. "But double if you can't."

"Ye of little faith," Hawke waggled her brow and slipped the pin from her wrist. Turning the tensile rod, she closed her eyes, "With my eyes closed, just for you."

"Bullshit."

Soon enough there were the successive clips, and Hawke hummed in delight, flipping open the chest, "Worry not, my dear dwarf. I will not let it beyond this room."

"Flames," he muttered, pulling the coin from his purse to throw her way. She stooped to retrieve them, when there were sound deeper in the house. They both froze.

Hawke sunk against the wall, moving to the door to eavesdrop. Slipping out her dagger, she pointed at the chest, "Take it and get out."

"I'm not just leaving you here," he replied, stooping to get the goods none the less.

"You need to escape with what's important," Hawke's lips quirked. There were voices down the hall. "Go! I'm right behind you."

Grumbling, Varric pushed open the window, and from the balcony, Hawke hoisted him onto the roof. In the process, she tipped too far over the railing and tumbled down the trellis. A potted plant broke her fall, quite literally. From the roof, Varric looked down, and Hawke frantically signalled him to escape. She struggled to her feet with a limp, trying to look casual.

"Mistress Hawke," a voice came from behind.

Hawke turned, thinly smiling before she said, "Your highness. What a pleasant surprise."

"A surprise indeed," Sebastian replied with a sad smile. "And please, I am but a brother in the Maker's service. Simply Sebastian. I have not often see you within Hightown before - though I am led to believe I will see you more?"

"They are not rumours, I assure you, simply Sebastian," Hawke lightly chuckled, following as he continued walking. She struggled not to limp.

"Where does your business take you this day?"

"I was just... heading to the Chantry, of course," Hawke looked down, clearing her throat subtly. She glanced back over her shoulder, scanning the rooftops before adding, "I had heard you found information on the people who betrayed your family."

"May the Blessed Andraste guard them," Sebastian answered, touching the amulet hanging around his neck. "Though some days I fear it is just smoke and shadow that bars the way, I have faith that His light will shine and show me the way."

Hawke sucked a breath through her teeth, forcing a smile as she limped again, "It does seem to do that."

Sebastian chuckled and smiled at her, and she was oblivious to his gaze as they walked. He shook his head before saying, "Excuse my impropriety, would it be alright if I walked with you?"

Almost laughing, Hawke grinned and said, "And what would you do if I said no?"

Stopping, Sebastian looked down, "I would not wish to intrude, serah."

"Honestly," Hawke was glib, "What do they do to you within there?"

"Pardon?" He furrowed his brow.

"You are far too polite to a mercenary you hired to exact justice in your name," she replied, pursing her lips. "What would you do if I left you naked in the street?"

"I-" Sebastian stopped walking, laughing nervously. "Milady, I-"

"Ohh relax," Hawke replied, leaning against the wall to take the weight off her leg. "Far too much work, and I'm not sure that's the kind of attention I want."

Sebastian cleared his throat, clasping his hands together behind him as he looked back at her. He turned towards the steps of the chantry, stopping again when she didn't follow, "Are you not coming, milady?"

Hawke smiled apologetically, "Drats, don't you know that I have just remembered - the guard captain had asked me to fetch three goats and a sheaf of wheat."

"Whatever for?" Sebastian laughed lightly, but Hawke was already limping away.

"Negotiations - very important!" she called out, raising a hand in farewell. "Give my best to the Maker and his Bride. They look wonderful together!"

* * *

"You know what I like about you, Anders?"

"Dare I ask?" he murmured as lanced a wound closed. He didn't look at Hawke as she peered at the bloody cut.

"I always know where to find you," she replied. "What? Did you think I was going to say something perverse?"

"I'm almost disappointed you didn't," he said, moving away to gather a poultice. He pressed it into the young woman's hand. "Put that on tomorrow, and come see me if it smells oddly or swells."

"Thank you so much, messere," she replied, taking his hand.

"Take care, miss," he said, and saw her out the door. Anders paused in the doorway, looking to where the daylight streamed in.

"Waiting for something?" Hawke asked, still sitting nearby.

"An expectant mother," Anders said, rubbing his eyes and coming back in. "It is her first child, and it sounds like she has carried for longer than normal."

"How pleasant."

Anders chuckled slightly, "Well... it's normal for a first. But I told her husband to come find me when she shows signs."

"How many children have you delivered?"

"In Kirkwall?" Anders flapped his lips a moment before saying, "I don't know. A lot."

"You've touched so many lives," Hawke said, grinning. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"The money from the expedition has made a lot possible," Anders said, turning away. "But there is something I wanted to ask you."

"Mmm I'm thinking you don't need to ask," Hawke said, stretching back. "I'm ready. You may ravage me."

Anders chuckled and looked back at her, "Not what I meant."

"Ah," Hawke said, casually linking her hands. "That's a pity."

"Varric told me that he found hints of a covert templar operation in Lowtown," Anders said, watching her hands move. "I have friends there that I'm worried for."

"Your fellow rebels?" Hawke grinned. "A rebel alliance?"

"Better than apostate, I suppose," Anders said, nodding. "Would you be willing to come with me to investigate?"

"Of course not," Hawke said, standing up. She cringed, "I'm insulted that you would think I need your help."

"Far be it from me," Anders rolled his eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing but religious flagellation, I assure you," Hawke replied. "Sebastian was giving me lessons."

"I'm sure he was," Anders murmured, lifting his hands and closing his eyes. A soft blue light enveloped Hawke's limbs, and he slowly sighed, "Bruising down your legs. Almost fits the story." Rotating his hands, he manipulated the Fade. "Better?"

"And here I was hoping for a personal inspection," Hawke pouted slightly. "So, I will run along and investigate the templars, while you stay here and look pretty? Excuse me, wait for the pregnant mother to burst."


	18. Fidelity

The world was melting in a drowsy rain, untouchable. Hawke remembered getting lost in a storm as a child, when they lived on the coast. The fogs were just like this, and it was no use to try. If only she could sit down to wait for father to find her.

"Marian..."

He only ever called her that if she were in trouble. Else she was his mischievous Mae. She must have done something now, she could scarce open her eyes. She'd have to face the music eventually.

"She will be alright. One of the strongest humans I have ever met," the elderly woman said, and Hawke opened her eyes. The world came into focus. Keeper Marethari patted her hand, "It is good to see you wake."

Anders looked up from where he was sitting nearby as Hawke's head rolled, and his expression softened, "Good - good, how did it go?"

"He'll be alright," Hawke quietly replied, sitting up. She covered her eyes as a wash of dizziness came over her. Looking through the small home, Aveline and Varric diverted their gaze. Through the nausea, the waking dream surfaced. "He's going to Tevinter to master the gift."

"Creators, no," Arianni covered her lips.

Speaking with the elven women for a short while, Hawke soon lead them out into the street.

"You'd think spending the day sleeping I would feel more rested," Hawke murmured, rubbing her eyes as they stood in the Alienage. "It doesn't get more weird than that."

"I need to rest," Aveline said, her words stilted. There was a heavy furrow on her brow. "Tomorrow is a big day."

"Yes, I'm quite sure you both have quite a bit on your minds," Hawke clipped and smiled thinly. "Have a lovely evening." She snagged Anders arm and took to the stairs. "Dear Anders, what about you? To Darktown?"

Anders forced them to walk slower, "Not really. I haven't been able to return for a few days - there have been a lot of templars around."

"Where do you stay if not there?"

"You're not my only friend, you know," he almost smirked.

"Ouch," Hawke laughed. She looked down wearily, "May I come? I'm feel as though I might fade away again."

Anders rolled his eyes, and eventually conceded, "I suppose. Not keen on the new house?"

"Not moved in yet," Hawke murmured. "And I simply do not have the mind to put up with my uncle tonight."

They slipped down a narrow alley, and Anders stopped before a meagre door, knocking in an odd pattern. The door opened, and an older man was there.

"Anders, Penny was beginning to worry. She's gone to bed."

"I apologize," Anders said, pulling Hawke in along with him. "Is it alright if another friend stays here tonight?"

"Any friend of yours is welcome," he said, reaching for Hawke's hand. "I'm Ben, serah."

"Hawke," she replied, smiling weakly. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Well," Ben said, dragging his fingers through his beard, "You're here, I may retire now. There's water in the kettle. In the morning." The man hovered oddly before disappearing into a back room.

Anders blocked the door before taking the kettle and pouring two cups. He stirred in a bit of milk and a few leaves from a tin on the mantle. "They're good people. Their son was taken to the Circle last year... he... he didn't make it."

Hawke furrowed her brow, sitting down, "I'm glad you can find support."

"None greater than you," he said, exhaling as he looked into the dying fire. He sipped the tea before saying, "It is unsteadying being... in the Fade. I scarce know what happened."

"It was just as odd hearing another voice from your lips, I assure you," Hawke said under her breath. "But it wasn't you."

"But it was," Anders replied, looking at her.

Hawke smacked her lips, looking at the cup, "You were very determined."

Anders sat beside her, quietly saying, "I suppose that's never changed. I escaped from the Ferelden Circle seven times, you know."

"I remember hearing something like that," she chuckled, watching him. "My father always said it was a fine line between perseverance and stupidity."

"Seems right," Anders chuckled. "I mean, look where it got me?"

Hawke leant back in the chair, her eyes heavy, "You won't find a better place than next to me."

"Always pushing," Anders sadly said. He closed his eyes, "What do you expect to find?"

"Nevermind that, right now," Hawke waved a hand, her head lolling towards him. "Thank you for sticking by me."

"Well..."

"I meant in the Fade," she said, putting a hand on his. "You're the only on who did. You and Justice."

Anders looked down, "I'm sorry for what happened with Varric and Aveline."

"Well, I killed her husband," Hawke smiled lopsided. "I always expected she held a grudge, but... suppose the confirmation is nice. He was dying from the darkspawn taint, he - he said it was a mercy killing."

"It was," Anders replied. "I've seen what becomes of men left to it."

"So have I," Hawke said, lifting her cup. "Do not forget that I am a deserter from the Ferelden army."

"A toast then," Anders said, raising his in turn. "To deserters of the cause."

"And not giving into temptation," Hawke added, smirking. "No matter how bad it is." They drank their tea, and she looked down into the tin cup, "Sodding... they don't have any liquor, do they?"

Anders watched her a bit too long before shaking his head, grinning, "Nope."

* * *

"And here she is for you to soak up as she begins her ascent through Kirkwall!" Varric said, waving a hand at Hawke and drawing hoots from the group gathered.

"Though perhaps sober up a bit before you try the stairs," Aveline replied, drawing light laughter.

"The beauty herself! Refugee risen from the ranks of indentured service, your supercilious smuggler and quick-witted vixen – slayer of the Sundermount dragon, and Fade-walker extraordinaire!"

"Yes, yes, you may all love me," Hawke laughed, unable to slouch back into her chair as he pushed her out amidst their friends. "I accept bribes, worship, and coin strewn at my feet."

"Like you need it," Aveline shook her head, grinning from where she leant against the wall. The Hanged Man's doors were barred and the common room jostled with their closest of friends as wine and whiskey freely flowed. The heady scent of roast meats and Orlesian sweets filled the air. Their goods packed and the new mansion cleaned and renovated, it was one of Hawke's last days as a resident of Lowtown.

"A dance!" Isabela laughed, snagging Hawke's hand and nodding to the minstrels. The fiddle and bombarde sprang to life, soon followed by the lively beat of the bodhran. The pirate moved lithely on her feet, "Do you know this one?"

"Oh," Hawke's eyes glowed as she mirrored the motions and said, "What good Ferelden wouldn't?"

They clapped their hands and spun into the dance, quick steps and smiles mingling with the laughter as others joined in. The minstrels upped the tempo as they danced, heels hit to the wooden floor in a chorus through the room as they swayed and met hands. When the refrain ended, each turned in flourish, and the semi-circle of reclined companions politely clapped, even as the drum swept away into another song.

Hawke smacked Isabela's arse, earning a salacious glance.

"Thank you, pretty thing," the Rivani replied, arching a brow as she swaggered to fetch more drink.

Hawke wove back to where her uncle and mother sat, leaning to accept Leandra's kiss.

"You were always so light on your feet," she said with a grin.

"What? Am I not any longer?" Hawke replied with a false pout. She leant a hip on their table, "Do you have everything you wish?"

"Yes dear," Leandra said, raising a hand to Gamlen, "Thank you for inviting us."

"Varric thought you might enjoy it," she looked down, grinning. "Though so did I. I'll be coming back to drag you to dance."

"I hardly think I could," Leandra shook her head, smiling sadly. "I am glad enough to watch."

"For now, mother," Hawke said, patting her hand and getting up. "We'll have you dancing again soon enough."

Hawke found her way to stand with Anders and two of his fellow apostates, who were separate from the dancing and drinking, "What is this? Come, you can't surely think you'll escape some form of celebration. Would you offend your noble?"

The young mage with him laughed a little, grinning, "I suppose it's hard to relax."

"You have my word, you are amongst friends. No one will harm you or threaten your freedom here. And if they do, let me know so a little pin might prick their oysters," Hawke said, draping an arm on Anders. "And what about you, serah? A look like that, I might begin to think you were spending too much time with Fenris."

"Andraste's knickers, no," Anders chuckled, grinning uncomfortably as he looked at her. "I'm not sure he'd allow me within ten paces.

"Oh I don't know," Hawke said in a breath, glancing to where the elf spoke in a corner with Isabela. "So long as you were impaled upon his blade, perhaps… though perhaps that didn't come out right." The other two mages laughed.

Anders shuddered but grinned, "Don't even go there, please. Maker – that's terrible."

"Ahhh yes," she said, toying with the soft shoulders of his coat. "You would much rather be the one impaling."

Clearing his throat, Anders shifted a bit more out of reach, "Be that as it may… Varric!"

Hawke's hands drifted to her hips as she watched him weave to where the dwarf sat amidst a rapt audience.

"I've never seen a woman unsettle him like that," the young mage said with a smirk. "Are you always so forward?"

"Yes," Hawke grinned devilishly at him. "Now if only he'd let me put him at ease, oh, then things might be grand. Another? Do you like the blue magus?"


	19. Earning a Name

"What do you want, Hawke," Fenris said as he wandered into the room she'd made herself at home in.

"A drinking companion, what else!" she replied with an innocent grin. "And you are simply one of the best."

"Are you already drunk," he asked. "Or were you actually waiting for me?"

Hawke arched her brow, snagging a wine bottle from under her chair, "I would hardly drink without waiting for the master of the manor."

Fenris took the bottle and drank, testing the ruby liquor in his mouth before nodding, "Not bad."

"I could buy you some glassware if you'd like?" she replied as he set the bottle between them.

"Just give me the tiles," he murmured. "Unless you are bothered by sharing with an elf?"

"Terribly, to tell you the truth," she sighed, taking the bottle again. "Now that I am meeting with the viscount and the talk of all the nobles... what would they say?"

"Hmph," he smirked, gathering the wooden chips on the table. He mixed through them before laying them out on the table. "No Varric tonight?"

"No," she pursed her lips, watching him set up the game. "He had to make scarce. Some dwarven merchants thing he couldn't bear to attend."

"I see," Fenris murmured, wrinkling his nose. "And what about Anders? You wouldn't rather dally with him?"

"We're dallying? Did I miss something? Here I thought Isabela filled that role," Hawke murmured, taking up the bottle. "Or me and Anders, alas, if only."

"She is... welcome company," he tactfully replied, scarce acknowledging when Hawke still stared. "It is your turn."

Shaking the dice in the cup, Hawke rolled before flipping over the corresponding tiles. She played again before saying, "You know, I have a bit of a quandary."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Hawke leant her head in her hand, watching him, "Would a mage get high if they licked your tattoos?"

"Excuse me?"

"Fine, fine," Hawke sighed. "Not what I was really interested in - though the option is always there to address my curiosity." She exhaled as Fenris flipped a triplet of good tiles.

"Why would the arishok wish to speak with me?"

The elf hesitated before taking up the cup to roll again, "What do you mean?"

"Apparently I am in greater demand than even I imagined," Hawke murmured, rolling after him. She flipped her tiles and clicked her tongue, "He asked to see me. By name. And you are the only person I know that has been able to surprise the qunari."

"I do not know," he murmured, watching her and continuing their game. "He seemed rather surprised by you as well."

"So coy," Hawke chuckled, drinking more wine. She smacked her lips, "Isabela must eat you up."

"Quite literally, I assure you," Fenris murmured, rolling and flipping over the rest of the tiles.

Hawke cursed and smacked down a few silvers, drawing a chuckle from him. She snagged the bottle of wine, peering at him as she laughed, "Now I'm not sharing any more."

* * *

Hawke leant her weight into the barrel alongside Fenris, clamping it shut with the turnkey. The gas was starting to settle and the elf and her mercenaries were dead.

"Check if there's anyone still alive," Hawke rasped, tightening the cloth over her mouth and nose. Fenris nodded and disappeared across the square. Aveline was kneeling nearby.

"Hawke, we need to get Anders out of here."

"Shit," she muttered, hurrying back to his side.

"I can carry him," the guard-captain replied, and together they hoisted him up over her shoulder. "Help the others."

Dragging other men and women from the ghastly miasma, Hawke soon collapsed atop the stairs of the quarter, choking and coughing with them. She roused from her hands and knees to drag herself to Aveline and Anders, wheezing as she did so.

"He's out cold," Aveline said, leaning back against the wall.

Hawke drew a small phial from her pocket and popped the cork off, wafting it under his nose, "Come on, you. Don't make me get a templar to get your feet moving."

Anders' breath deepened, and he started coughing, shuddering on the ground. "Wha...what?"

"Hah," Aveline said, hauling up to intercept the guards as they came close. Donnic was amongst them. They were trying to control the curiosity of the crowds.

Collapsing into a coughing fit of her own, Hawke fumbled with her satchel, pulling out an elixir for him. "I - I don't know what's wrong with you."

"Ribs," Anders whispered, lying back on the ground. Others struggled around them, finding their loved ones and coughing up blood. "I can't here."

"Drink that, then," Hawke whispered, wiping the blood that freely dripped from her nose. "So at least I don't have to drag you home. I will if you want me to, but it won't be pleasant."

Anders almost laughed, but just ended up coughing again, and he groaned heavily, breathing oddly to stop himself.

"Sorry," Hawke murmured, pulling a rag from her bag to hold to her nose. She scarce moved as Fenris collapsed beside her, his skin having taken a sickly pallor. Putting a potion in his hands without prompting, he popped the cork and drank it, slouching against the wall beside her.

Aveline came wandering back with Donnic on her heels, "It sounds like most of the district was evacuated."

"A lot of people died down there," Hawke murmured, eyes unfocused.

"A lot more would have died if we hadn't come straight here," she said, rubbing her reddened eyes. "And no more will die. It's quarantined. Hawke - Hawke, are you alright?"

"I hope this feeling goes away," she replied stuffily, her voice still raw. "And here you all thought I was crazy before."

"Joy of joys," Fenris murmured, his voice gravelly.

"If I swallowed a key, would you be able to get it out of my stomach?" Hawke's head rolled towards the elf, and she checked her nose with the back of her hand. "Though I suppose, how would you get it out? Other than making me vomit."

Fenris sighed and stood up, stopping only as Aveline extended a hand.

"Thank you for your help, you saved a lot of people tonight."

"For better or worse," he murmured, securing his sword and slipping off into the night.

"Do you need a hand getting home?" Aveline peered down at them.

"Please," Hawke replied, ripping some cloth to stuff up her nose. "I've stumbled home more drunk than this without getting mugged."

"And you?"

"I'll get her home," Anders hoarsely replied. They were left sitting in the street as Aveline joined the other guards. He sat up with a groan, clutching his chest and breathing shallowly. "I... I need to get somewhere safe."

"Darktown it is," Hawke said, unsteady on her feet. She pulled him up and he shuddered, stumbling a bit.

* * *

They sat on the cliff overlooking the Waking Sea, having made camp for the night. The sun was setting, and the sky was painted red and blue, contrasting sharply as the night encroached upon them.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful," the young man said.

"I won't deny, I get that a lot," Hawke sighed a grin. She had elbows on her knees, her legs splayed awkwardly apart. When the man laughed, she nodded and looked over the water. It was oddly calm – the late summer storms would start soon. "I imagine the view you had must have been close though?"

Smirking, he said, "How beautiful can anything be when you're in a cage? A beautiful woman who never will be yours, children you're banned from having – a sunset that mocks the fact you're trapped in stone."

"Can't really blame the sun," Hawke mused. "Then again the it does feature prominently in Chantry idolism, you may be on to something."

He rolled his eyes this time.

Hawke grinned and lifted her skein, drinking deep before offering it to him. Smacking her lips, she said, "My sister says they are rather strict with contraband in the Gallows."

"They're a lot worse than when I was younger," he said, drinking the wine and shuddering a bit. He handed it back. "I.. I feel bad for leaving them."

"Don't worry," Anders said as he approached, sinking to sit with them on the ground and look over the ocean. "I – we're doing our best to help anyone we can."

"You'll be in a small village – though from the sounds, it's barely even that," Hawke said, grinning. "It's best that way. They're a family whose daughter was taken from them – she was made Tranquil last year."

"Oh?"

"Clara," Anders quietly said. "Did you know her?"

The young mage's face fell ashen, "Yes. She was a wonderful person."

Anders shook his head, clenching his fist on the ground as he quietly said, "Well they won't have you."

"Thank you for it," the young mage replied. "And thank Bethany?"

"I will," Hawke nodded, watching him go back to the fire before she stared at Anders. His burning gaze was on the water.

"If you had known me back in Ferelden, we would have gotten into all sorts of trouble," Anders said with a melancholy smile.

"And we haven't been getting into trouble? Perhaps I need to try harder." Hawke said, leaning on a hand. "We could get into a lot more, you know."

"That's just what I mean," he almost laughed. "What is it you see in me, Marian? I... I can't give you the things you deserve."

"What do I see, mm..." Hawke shuffled closer, tilting her head to appraise him. "A dashing renegade mage who seems to care a lot more about others than himself. The good looks are obviously a given."

The sentiment drew a smirk as Anders looked down, lying his stave down.

"Someone with beliefs he adheres to over anything," Hawke mused, watching him. "Even if he can be a little contradictory at times."

"I suppose," he quietly said.

"A man who inspires me to act - who never lets me forget where my sister is, or that he wants her to be free again," she quietly said, putting her hand on top of his. "Someone who needs me."

"That's no good reason for this," Anders' voice wavered slightly, and he looked at their hands. Squeezing her fingers, he said, "I'm not like them. All the others you flirt with."

"You think I don't know that?" Hawke asked, grinning as she looked at him. "Oh wait, did I miss something the times your eyes have start to glow? Or when you light clogs of marauders on fire? Or save me, I neglected to notice your terrible fashion sense?"

"I though they looked dashing," Anders murmured, looking at himself.

"Trust me," she said, "They would look far better on the ground."

Ander's expression lightened a moment as he chuckled, "You never cease."

"If you want me to stop, I will," Hawke plainly said.

"I.. " Anders' voice drifted and he sighed, looking at the ocean again. "Does what I want really matter? He is there, overriding so much. And I cannot think - even if all I want to see is..."

"Is what?"

Anders slowly shook his head, letting go of her hand to take up his staff, "It's nothing. We should get back while there's still food."

Hawke put her head in her hand, harrumphing to herself as he walked away again, leaving her on the cliff as a cool breeze came up from the sea.


	20. Temptation

Merrill leant into her hands, watching Isabela casually lay her cards on the table. Varric cursed and tossed his down, and the pirate's eyes sparkled.

"I don't get it," Merrill softly said. "How did you do that? You didn't have that card bef-"

"Kitten, be a doll and get me another drink?" Isabela smiled brightly, touching the elf's cheek. "And we'll deal you in the next round, mm?

"I should know better than to play you," Varric murmured, smacking a trio of silvers down.

"But it's always so fun," Isabela purred, and Merill stood up from the table to head down to the bar. As she reached for the coin, Hawke laid down her hand.

"Isn't it just?" Hawke smiled, and Isabela made a frustrated sound, throwing the coin at her.

Hawke's eyes sparkled as she gathered it up, when Anders strode through Varric's palatial suite and into the small room at the back. The conversation stopped and they looked back. Merrill returned, setting down a pitcher beside Isabela.

"Did someone break something?" she nervously laughed. "I always tried to hide and be quiet when I did something wrong."

"You're fine, Kitten," Isabela said, slowly grinning. She patted her thigh, "Come sit here and you can play the next round."

Varric glanced at Hawke, who snagged and pocketed her coins, "Where'd he come from?"

"I don't know," she quietly replied. "I don't follow him all the time, you know."

"Uh huh," the dwarf said, shaking his hand as Isabela dealt. Hawke laid down an ante as he said, "And I'm the most righteous man in Lowtown."

"He was gone all night," Hawke replied, arching her brow. "I do need my beauty sleep you know."

"But it's past noon," Merrill said, taking the cards Isabela slipped her.

"I happen to be quite beautiful," Hawke lightly smiled at the mage. Anders soon emerged, his eyes dark, and he scarce waved as he disappeared down the steps and out of the bar proper.

Isabela lit a rolled leaf, sucking deep as she nodded at Merrill and leant close to the girl's ear, whispering under her breath.

"Oh, like that you mean?" Merrill rearranged the stained cards in her hands. "Maybe this is easier with something to drink…"

"You only need ask," Varric chuckled and slid her a cup. "I knew you'd fall to our sinful ways some day."

"It doesn't seem so bad," Merrill said, pouring a bit of whiskey. She smelt it before taking a sip and shaking her head, "Your wicked ways, I mean, not this dreadful drink."

Hawke folded her cards and tossed them on the table with a few coins to follow, "Sorry to step out, ladies, perhaps I'll find you later."

As she walked away from the table, Varric lamented, "Shit, I guess that doesn't leave me much choice. Deal me in."

Hawke beat Anders down to his clinic and was leaning against the door jam when he came up the stairs through Darktown. "Are you alright? I worry when I see you brooding like some former Tevinter slave whom shall remain nameless."

Anders wouldn't meet her gaze, adjusting the heavy satchel in his arms. Shifting his weight, he said, "Come inside…" He drifted around the clinic, and Hawke waited as he put a small bowl of milk by the door.

"You had one of your meetings today, didn't you?"

"I was supposed to," Anders replied, throwing his satchel on the ground and spilling the parchment within.

"Your fan club not as eager to see you today?"

Anders laughed once, emptily as he said, "That's one way of putting it. Two of my good friends from the Circle – contacts on the inside – they… they've been made Tranquil. There's nothing I could do."

"Anders, I'm so sorry," Hawke said, shaking her head. She followed him deeper into the clinic. "If there's anything I can do. Knock heads or something – cut some templar heels?"

"You stick your neck out as is for the mages here. You've already done so much," he said, his voice growing raw. "More than I could have ever asked from a friend. More than I deserve."

"It's not like I don't get anything out of it," Hawke said, "Delightful company and excellent reading material."

"You actually read it?" Anders turned to her.

"It might be more… bedtime reading for me, I must say," Hawke grinned up at him as he shook his head. "But of course I read it."

Anders head hung heavy as he tried to busy his hands, until finally he said, "One day we'll make a world where your sister can be free again."

"I know," Hawke said, looking up to him. "I don't know what it would do to me if the templars locked you up too."

Making a soft sound, Anders looked at her, eyes weighted, "Why come down here, Marian?"

Hawke placed a hand high on her breast, glancing around, "Perhaps I've not been as obvious as I imagined but… I rather enjoy your company, Anders." Her voice softened, "And you're upset. You need me to be here."

"What I need doesn't matter."

"Of course it does, silly man," Hawke said, "You have needs just like the rest of us. Dreams, desires, passions… do you deny yourself because of all this?"

Anders finally looked to her, his hand coiling closed, "It seems like the best course some days. There are other drives in me – this need for justice I cannot deny."

Hawke looked down, reaching to ease open his hand and fit hers in it. "I can help you with it, of course. And other drives, mm?"

Expression lightening, Anders chuckled a bit, looking over her face, "It isn't that I don't want it, you know. I think about you all the time… and it just gets harder to hold back."

Licking her lips, Hawke shrugged and grinned coquettishly, "So why resist, Anders? Certainly not for me."

Anders eyes traced her lips, and he exhaled before reaching for her cheek. Pulling Hawke to him, he kissed her roughly, pinning the woman close as his lips parted with hers, deepening the stolen affection. Her hands touched his waist, dragging up the snaps of his jacket and drawing a soft moan. He stepped into her, forcing her back a step, his lips almost bruising with their need.

When he pulled away, Hawke sucked in a trembled breath, and Anders rested his forehead against hers, "This will be a disaster... but if we die tomorrow, I don't want to miss this."

"I have that effect," Hawke softly said, slowly grinning.

"I can't give you a normal life," Anders whispered, looking down as he took her hand. "We'll be hunted, hated no matter what."

"That's nothing new to me, Anders," Hawke said, squeezing his hand.

There were sounds at the clinic door.

"I want to see you… just you, away from all these eyes," Anders replied, his fingers dragging over her cheek and snagging in her hair. He kissed her roughly again, and Hawke exhaled hard through her nose. Letting her go, he swallowed and looked away, "Tonight? Don't… don't say yes or no, just… if your door is open tonight, I'll know. Give you another chance to heed my warning and escape."

"Escape," Hawke breathily replied. "Can't imagine a girl who would want to escape that…"

Anders shook his head as he moved towards the door, inhaling deeply to distance himself, "Well, the opportunity's there…"

* * *

Hawke waved her hand at Bodahn as she began to speak, quickly saying, "Another day."

"Alright, messere," the dwarf replied, disappearing into the library.

Hawke spent the rest of the afternoon busying herself in the markets rather than pacing at home, but as the sun dipped below the walls, she returned to Hightown. Up the stairs into her room, she removed her armour and left it haphazardly on the ground by her desk, pacing back towards the kindled fire in the hearth.

It had been years since she'd been with anyone worthwhile - that she remembered. It had all been meaningless since the war. The high energy on the field leading to Ostagar, sexual tensions had snapped and she'd certainly had her share of lovers. Men like her, who had never been to war, afraid of dying and wanting to cling to something joyous that made the body sing.

Carver's death and the flight from Ferelden had left a vacancy inside, compounded by Bethany's imprisonment in the Gallows. For all her lewd innuendo and lack of shame, she'd been alone ever since they came to Kirkwall.

She had begun to think Anders merely tolerated her coy glances and teasing because he respected her - not that he actually wanted her. Hawke touched her lips and looked into the fire, blinding the rest of her room in darkness as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. Somehow that kiss let her think about everything she'd said to him, every half-truth and joke to tease and urge him on. It had all been there in that kiss, and even then, there had been restraint.

What if he didn't come?

Hawke turned at the sound of steps, a thrill inside as she saw Anders, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

"I'm still a man, for all your teasing," Anders said, shutting the door behind him. "Even if Justice doesn't approve of my... obsession with you."

"Obsession?" Hawke said, grinning. "You've been holding out on me."

Anders took off his coat, laying it on her desk with his staff beside it, before coming back to her, "I suppose I have... It's been hard not to think about you all these years. You've done so much to help mages - to help me. But he thinks you're a distraction."

"So you keep saying," Hawke chuckled, tilting her head. "Is it so wrong to want something for yourself?"

"I thought this part of me was gone," Anders replied, touching over her cheek as she stood by the fire. "In the Circle, love was just something else the templars could use against you. Something they could take from you."

"I must be all the more appealing then," Hawke lightly said, tracing her hands up his chest.

"I think this might be the rule I enjoy breaking the most," Anders replied, leaning in to kiss her and wrap his arms around her.

Drawing a deep breath, Hawke tilted into his hungry lips, and he pinned her close once more, taking lengthening kisses amidst heated breaths. When she pulled away, Anders followed, and their eyes met as he leant over her. He slid his hand in hers, pressing her onto the bed as they kissed again, bodies grinding together.

"Do we need these clothes?" Hawke asked in a breath, laying her head back as his lips suckled down her neck.

Anders grinned against her, catching her other hand as he replied, "And if I simply wish to worship slowly and properly?"

Pressing into his hands, Hawke closed her eyes, shivering into his mouth, "Sometimes a quick and dirty prayer is the best. There is always time for a more... lengthy adulation once you have been cleansed."

"I see," he sighed into her neck, lips up over her ear to draw a tensed sigh. Hawke was nimble though, and her leg crept past his waist. Anders pinned her hands into the blanket, grinding into her again as he kissed her, tongues meeting to play. When he let go of her hands, they were in his robes, fumbling with the buckles and loops, loosening them in the most awkward manner. Her leg found purchase and she rolled him on the bed, kneeling up over top of him to suck a deep breath.

"Still overdressed," she purred, and he lost sight as she pulled more of his clothing off.

Anders slipped his hands up her shirt, fingers seeking skin as she leant down and kissed him again. Hawke moved her arms, and he pulled the garment off, tossing it aside and letting himself feel her again. She leant into his rough hands, breasts mushed beneath them as she toyed with his lips. He groaned deeply as Hawke cupped his head, teeth tugging his bottom lip.

Rolling her again, Anders snagged the waist of her leggings, pulling them off only to be drawn back as Hawke tangled his arms and took off his shirt. They were kissing again, her wrist in his hand as her free fingers rode down his kempt loins. He bit her breast in reply, prompting a gasp and jerk that urged their bodies closer.

"Overdressed," she whispered against his cheek, his stubble dragging on her skin as she stole another kiss, and he couldn't help but grin. Lying atop her, Anders ground against her smalls, dry humping to meet the rise of her hips in reply. It drew a deeper moan as she turned aside for breath, "Maker!"

Hawke tried to jostle free, their legs wrestling together, and it brought another grin to Anders. She met his eyes, breathing roughly beneath him. He let go of her wrist, trailing down her arm to grasp her breast, toying with the nipple to make her squirm. She made a frustrated sound, and her fingers caught in the waist of his breeches. Closing his eyes, he took her nipple in her mouth, shifting his weight to kick them off.

"You - you want this?" he quietly asked, leaning and touching over her brow. "I've dreamt about you... for so long..."

Dilated eyes swimming, Hawke pulled him closer, muttering, "Fuck me, Anders, no more teasing."

The stress gone from his features, Anders shook his head, taking her lips again as he pinned her down and thrust in.


	21. The Morning After

"Marian? Are you up, dear?"

Hawke sat up in bed, groggily reaching for some scrap of cover as she heard her mother's voice. The sheets and coverlet were all gone, though she could see them nearby on the floor. Anders was asleep beside her, his expression devoid of the usual lines of worry and strain.

"That nice young man from the Chantry is here," Leandra said through the door.

"Shit," Hawke sighed, getting up and walking to the door nude. She put a hand against it, "Give me a minute, mother."

"Did I wake you, dear?" Leandra continued, "What are you doing sleeping at this hour? It's almost midday."

For once, Hawke had no snippy reply, "Just tell him I'll be down shortly."

"Don't keep him waiting," she said, and her steps could be heard moving away.

Hawke sighed, closing her eyes before looking back to the bed. Seeing him still sprawled there made her smile. She walked to her wardrobe and quietly got some clothing. Standing looking at the fire, she laced up the plain breeches. She jumped slightly when his arm snuck around her waist.

"I didn't want to wake you," she softly said. "You seemed so peaceful."

"It's the best I've slept in a very long time," he replied, his other arm winding around to pull her snug against him. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he said, "I love you. I wanted you to know that."

Hawke dropped her chin, smoothing her hand over his and earning a stubbly nuzzle, "You don't have to say that."

"I say it because I mean it," he whispered, lips just below her ear. "You are so soft, you smell divine, and just having you in my arms... It gives me so much."

"I love you too," she quietly replied, turning in his arms to kiss him. Standing half-naked against his slender body, their tongues met and he sighed, tugging at her. Hawke smiled in his lips and withdrew, "There is a guest to see me though. Stay... relax. Make yourself at home."

"A little while, at least," Anders said, running his fingers into her hair to kiss her cheek and the curve of her jaw. "The clinic needs me."

Reluctantly pulling from his arms, Hawke snagged her shirt, and paused at her desk to hastily tug a brush through her long brown hair. Securing it back with a bit of leather, she looked back at Anders, from where he sat on the bed admiring her.

She walked with a swagger towards the door, swaying her hips for his benefit and earning a shake of his head.

Out in the house proper, Hawke descended the stairs to find her mother conversing with Sebastian by the fire. The pair turned their attention from the mabari hound, who rose to greet his mistress as she approached.

"Ahh hello, your grace," Hawke said, ruffling the dogs ears as she offered Sebastian a politic smile. "Your highness, I had not expected you to come calling so soon."

Leandra looked scandalized, almost fumbling, "I - I apologize, messere, I did not know."

Sebastian shook his head, smiling sweetly, "Please, it is just Sebastian, serah Hawke. I am but a brother of the Chantry to you, madam. I gave that up long ago."

Under her daughter's watchful eye, Leandra smiled kindly and nodded, "I'll keep that in mind, and leave you two to your business."

"That is quite the mabari you have," Sebastian said, clasping his hands together behind him. "I have read they are a mark of nobility in Ferelden."

"Yes," Hawke said, crossing her arms and looking down at the dog. "His grace is so very noble, particularly when he drools on your pillow, or chews up a book."

The hound dubiously rumbled, glancing between Hawke and the brother before padding after Leandra into the pantry.

Sebastian laughed lightly, nodding, "I can imagine."

"Is there something I might help you with?" Hawke lightly said, running a hand up the back of her neck.

"You have done more than anyone, serah," Sebastian's voice softened, and he looked down. "You helped me face temptation greater than I ever could have imagined. What happened to the Harrimann's was... horrific."

"No less horrific than what happened to your family," Hawke said. She inclined her head, "Theirs was a tragedy of consequence, while yours was... simply unspeakable."

"You have your own share of difficulty, serah," he quietly said, looking towards the fire. "If it is the will of the Maker, through Him we will find the righteous path. Their reckoning has already come."

Hawke pursed her lips into a thin line, offering no reply.

"But I did not come here to offer you a sermon," Sebastian chuckled and retrieved a book from his satchel. "I wished to give you this in thanks - it is something I have often enjoyed in my reflections."

Turning the book in her hands, Hawke smoothed her fingers along the spine, "Ser Andrew?" She opened it and raised her brow, "I am familiar with 'Death of a Templar'."

"This is another of his works," Sebastian said. "I have found his writing to be quite soothing. It is very poetic."

"It is," Hawke quietly said, tucking the book under her arm and smiling at him. "Thank you. It is a very... specific gift."

"I hope you will enjoy it as much as I," Sebastian looked down, before clearing his throat and smiling. "It was good to see you, serah Hawke."

"And it was kind of you to stop by," Hawke turned as there was the sound of movement upstairs. "But I must attend to other matters, I'm afraid."

Sebastian followed her gaze to where Anders stood upstairs, the mage shuffling his feathered coat on. A blush rose on his cheeks, "Oh I... yes. I see. I - I am sorry for intruding, serah."

"Think nothing of it, my dear," Hawke smiled brightly, taking Sebastian's arm and leading him to the door.

Anders had made it down the stairs by the time she returned, a smirk on his lips, "Were you torturing that chaste man?"

"Only a little," Hawke said with a cheshire smile. "He brought it upon himself, entreating on my territory."

"Indeed," Anders laughed.

"And how could I resist! It's like asking Fenris to come help us free one of your apostate friends," Hawke smiled still as he stepped close, and she slipped a hand over his feathered shoulder. "I can't be expected to resist the temptation to get under their skin!"

"You're terrible," he chuckled again, kissing her briefly. He pulled back when someone coughed.

"Oh," Anders turned stiffly, clearing his throat and bowing his head. "Mistress Amell - it's a pleasure."

"It's good to see you, Anders," Leandra replied, casually walking towards them with a plate of biscuits. "Some late breakfast perhaps."

Anders glanced to Hawke, who only seemed to smile brightly and accept the biscuit, "Ah yes, thank you. That is very kind of you."

"I have some water in the kettle for tea as well, if you're able to stay," Leandra glanced from her daughter back at him.

Looking to Hawke for approval, who merely kept her brow raised, Anders cleared his throat and broke the bread, "I - I need to get to my clinic. I am already late for when they usually expect me."

"A pity," Leandra replied, turning to put the tray down on Hawke's desk. "Perhaps another time." She drifted back into the kitchen.

Anders let out a pent up breath, turning to Hawke, "Maker's breath, that was even worse."

"It wasn't so bad," Hawke smiled, leaning to kiss him again, albeit chastely.

"Yes, because I shouldn't worry at all about your mother. You've only had a possessed mage spend the night," Anders murmured, letting her take his hands. He softly sighed.

"And my father was an apostate," Hakwe replied. "If anything, I am only taking after her. Who can resist a sexy rogue mage's charms?"

Anders chuckled uncomfortably before embracing Hawke, "If you knew what was good for you." Holding her a moment, he said, "I'll see you soon, I hope?"

"If it is what tickles your fancy, by all means," Hawke said, accepting another kiss before he turned for the door. Watching in the silence, she softly sighed before smiling to herself and following her mother. Leandra was at the servant's table in the kitchen - where they took most of their meals. She rose when Hawke entered to retrieve some of the cut fruit nearby and pour her a cup of tea. They were quiet a while.

"I suppose I can find comfort in the fact that I do not need to canvas for a husband for you," Leandra finally said when she sat back beside her daughter.

"A job you gave yourself, I might add," Hawke smirked and accepted the tea. She looked down into the cup.

"I know, dear," Leandra chuckled and took her daughters hand. "So which one has your interest then?"

Hawke laughed too, putting her cheek into her other hand and looking at her mother, "Well, considering it was Anders who came down the stairs from my bedroom..."

"Oh," Leandra looked at her own tea, before laughing again. "Not the noble? What is he - a prince?"

"Yes, he's a prince. Prince of Starkhaven." Hawke murmured before adding, "And a sanctified born-again virgin of the Chantry."

"Hardly for you then," Leandra smiled, taking her tea in both hands.

"Indeed," Hawke said, eyes softening. "Anders on the other hand..."

"He's a mage, isn't he?"

"Like mother, like daughter," Hawke inhaled, date from the plate. "What else can I say?"

"Why haven't I seen him more? Or do you run off with him and the others in Lowtown?"

Hawke laughed, leaning back in her chair, "We are actually doing things, mother. I promise. Not just drinking at the Hanged Man."

"No, but it factors strongly, I'm sure."

Rolling her eyes, Hawke grinned, "He doesn't even drink, I assure you. Won't let himself."

"Maybe he'll be good for you then," Leandra amended.

"Not if you ask him," Hawke quietly said.

Leandra nodded, smile softening, "That sounds like your father. Give it time. He'll stop trying to convince you otherwise."

"I hope so," Hawke murmured. "I get tired of hearing it sometimes. Oh, I'm not normal, you deserve better, our life will never be normal."

"He's right in part," Leandra said, looking at her daughter with concern. "Life with a mage isn't easy, my dear."

Hawke put her hand back over her mother's, "And when has my life ever been easy, sweet mother?"

Leandra chuckled and shook her head, "Then just be happy." She was on her feet, pausing to hug Hawke and kiss the top of her head, "Thank you for keeping it down at least, and letting an old woman get her rest."

As Leandra left, Hawke laughed and covered her face, "Sodding hell."


	22. Sun Blond Vint

**A/N: Part of this chapter was originally a snippet story I posted - the first DA2 thing I wrote hehe. But I felt like it fit in to Anathema's Anchor, so i reworked it a bit... and there it is. Thanks as always for your reviews and for reading :) hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Hawke slouched into the chair at the Hanged Man. She slid a flagon across the table to Varric, keeping two for herself.

"And here I thought you might have a little sense," the dwarf smirked and draped an arm over the back of his chair.

"Well you know me, Varric," Hawke replied, lifting her glass. "Not an ounce of it."

"It'd be different if you had any tolerance – you'd think you would after all these years."

"Just shut up and drink," she laughed lightly. "Unless you don't think you can keep up?"

"My good lady, I am offended that you would even suggest it," Varric said, before sipping a long draught. "Ahh… so where's Blondie?"

Hawke's faintly cheeks blushed as she lightly laughed, "He'll be here. Has to wait till dark you know, it's just not safe enough."

"Ah yes, he must keep to the shadows lest his garish features be seen by the light of day," Varric's voice lilted. "Traversing the streets no matter the threat to seek the forbidden kiss of a noble."

"Oh please," Hawke laughed again. "What else is there to the story?"

"A great deal I imagine – the dwarf she pines for but can never have." Varric sighed and shrugged, flagon in hand as he leaned close, "Good thing I only tell the real story outside of polite company."

"Always such a silver tongue," Hawke drawled, leaning her head into her hand. Half of one of her flagons was already gone. She drained the rest, before pushing it aside.

Sobering some, Varric scratched the curve of his jaw before saying, "I'm not sure what you're doing with him anyway."

"Well," Hawke said with a sigh as she looked at him, "I could never aspire to the greater of my friends…"

"True, true," Varric sighed, smiling widely.

"… unless you were meaning you don't know how humans fit together or the like?"

Varric laughed and shook his head, sitting up more and raising his hands, "Oh please, milady, do not defile my innocent ears! I cannot hear it!"

"If you're innocent, I'm the Queen of Antiva," Hawke snorted.

On his feet without hesitation, Varric was quick to genuflect, reaching for her hand, "A thousand pardons, your majesty, if I had only known."

"As you should be!" Hawke haughtily replied, pushing Varric back with the toe of her boot. "Fetch me silks and thirteen concubines of the fairest skin! And a flagon of Sun Blond Vint!"

Varric continued his subservience with a flowery flourish of his hand, dipping down, "But of course, messere!" He backed out of the room before turning to sashay down to the tavern proper. Hawke slouched in the chair with a smirk and a sigh, finishing off another flagon. She closed her eyes. It was late enough to be early, but she hadn't quite had her fill. And Anders was supposed to have met them for the rounds - well, met them while _they_ had rounds. Her eyes popped open when she heard the telltale clomp of her dwarven cohort.

"Your royal highness-ess, I may have found a blond vintage more to your liking," Varric said as he came back into the room.

"So I'm likened to liquor now?" Anders said with a smirk, his expression softening as Hawke's eyes turned his way.

"Well I know I could just drink you up," Hawke drawled slowly, scarce avoiding slurring her words. Anders laughed and stepped forward to take her hand, leaning to down kiss her. When her fingers tightened, the flirtatious greeting deepened and Varric cleared his throat.

"As much as I enjoy a show, I can't have you two kids getting distracted. There's the real reason you're both here."

"What? I can't strip him bare?" Hawke pouted slightly.

Anders cleared his throat, "Don't I have a say in this?"

"No," Hawke and Varric replied in unison, prompting them both to laugh.

"Keep your pants on for a moment, Hawke? I know, I know, I ask too much!" Varric 's eyes twinkled as he produced a scroll, "But I may have found Bartrand…"

* * *

"Considering how often you drink, you hold your own better than other dwarves I've known," Anders quietly said, sitting in the drawing room of Hawke's manor.

Varric chuckled darkly, looking in his mug, "Who do you mean, that oaf from Amaranthine?"

"In part," Anders smirked.

"Maybe it's just surface dwarves," Hawke replied, waggling her brow. "A better breed all around."

"Could just be me, beautiful," Varric said, holding out his mug as Hawke refilled it. His expression sobered, even as they drank more.

"Where will he go?" Hawke quietly asked.

"There's a sanitarium just outside of the city," Varric replied. "Chantry run, but it's the only one nearby."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," Anders said.

"You did what you could, Blondie," Varric scoffed, drinking the entire glass. "I still don't know if leaving him alive was a kindness or greater punishment. Shit, I don't know."

"Obviously, you haven't had enough to drink," Hawke said, drawing a laborious breath. "Or I haven't. But it could be both. I can still see the both of you clearly."

"Yeah," Varric blankly replied, holding out his glass for Hawke again. She leant across and filled it to the brim, waiting as he downed it and wordlessly asked for more. Another glassful passed his lips before he accepted another, resting the full glass on the arm of the chair. He exhaled sharply. "When did everything go to shit?"

Hawke was refilling her own glass, slouching in the large chair, "I'm tempted to say the Blight. No blight, no fleeing Ferelden, no empty Deep Roads, no expedition."

"Should I say something about mages? If you'd like to blame them, I mean," Anders said, leaning on the arm of his chair. "Tevinter and the like."

Varric snorted once, shaking his head and laying his head back, "Blighted mages, of course. Broody would be proud."

"Or Sebastian," Hawke drawled. "When - when we went to the Harriman's, good coin I will say, but you wouldn't believe him and Fenris. Talking about turning Anders and Merrill in to the templars."

"Flames, that boy is an idiot," Varric muttered, sipping his glass with greater temperance. "Let's piss off the people I hired to kill an entire company of mercenaries. That'll end well."

"I don't think he will," Hawke slurred. "I could always go to mass to distract him from you, Anders."

"Don't on my account," the mage chuckled.

"But the Maker," Hawke glowered. "I must worry about my soul, the.. His bride, or something like that. I forget."

Anders smirked and tapped his hand on the arm of his chair, obviously more lucid.

"You can be sure he'd have a rather tragic accident if he tries to screw with you, Blondie."

"Indeed," Hawke replied with a low chuckle, sipping more whiskey. She sighed and slouched further. "I'm sorry it didn't go well, Varric. It feels so... unresolved."

"I just find myself glad mother isn't alive again," the dwarf murmured. "It would have broken her heart."

"Yes, because him abandoning you in the Deep Roads wouldn't have," Anders replied.

"I was always her favourite," Varric grinned.

"If you need coin or anything," Hawke murmured, her eyes half closed. "For his treatment or upkeep - you know you just have to ask."

"Shit, Hawke," Varric sighed, looking at her. "My family is still well off, despite Bartrand. I can look after my own."

"Well it's there," Hawke tried unsuccessfully to sit up, nearly spilling her drink. "I look after my own too. Or I try to, anyway."

Varric tapped his thumb on the rim of his glass, nodding slowly, "I know, beautiful. I'll let you know if I need you."

"And whatever would you need frommm me, when you have Bianca?" Hawke pouted, and both men chuckled. "What can she do that I can't, anyway?"

"Don't you wish you knew?" Varric grinned.


	23. The Forgotten Night

How they all ended up there is anyone's business, but soon enough Varric had shut the door to his palatial suite - after Edwina had left enough glasses and had a barrel of each whiskey and ale tapped, of course. Needless to say, they were sloshed. Hawke was sprawled in a chair alongside Varric, leaning over his head as she laughed at the story.

"I've had more than enough of your tall tales," Aveline shook her head, smirking from where she sat. Somehow Donnic had convinced her to join them, and her eyes were bright from the drink.

"If we've had enough lies, perhaps we should get down to the truth," Isabela said, as she waggled her brow at Merrill and tugged the lithe girl back into her lap. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I just thought that - nowhere," she smiled lightly, taking the glass of ale the pirate offered.

"So what do you propose, wench?" Hawke said, resting her arm over her knee.

Isabela arched a brow, leaning over the table as she said, "A game of course. We've had enough drink for fun, but let's do something raunchy."

"Maker preserve me," Sebastian muttered, looking into the glass of water he held. "Perhaps this wasn't the brightest idea."

Hawke caught his shoulder as he tried to get up, "Don't think you're getting out of this one. The door's shut, you can't escape now." She looked around the room, grinning, "And that's the same for all of you."

"However lubricated I might be, I am not one to allow myself to be contained," Fenris said, trying to sit up in his chair.

"If you're that lubricated, dearest, perhaps I can drag you to the back room?" Isabela replied, prompting a soft titter from Merrill. "After our game of 'Never have I ever' of course!"

"Really," Aveline said as she sat up from Donnic's arms, "I'm not certain I - we're up for such a game."

"Don't worry, ginger," Isabela said, eyes sparkling, "With the way you live, I doubt you'll have to drink much at all."

"So what are the rules," Anders said, smacking his lips. "Though I don't imagine Justice getting anymore happy about this..."

"Such a dear," Hawke laughed lightly, toying with his hair. "You always say you're one and the same."

"We are -"

"Then how are you drinking if he doesn't wish it?"

"I'd rather not get into it," Anders said, expression drawn as he took another sip of ale. Hawke pulled him close to kiss his temple and cheek, and his eyes lightened.

"It's simple enough," Isabela said, grinning as she propped a foot up on the table, "If you've done something, you drink. If not, you don't."

"You know, Isabela, if you're wanting to get trashed, I can help you with that," Varric said. "In fewer words."

"I'm just tired of sitting around," Isabella said, swaying back in her chair and knocking Merrill out. The elf stumbled back into Fenris' steady hand. "I want to have some fun, this is almost as boring as the Chantry."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes.

"No offense, sweet cheeks," Isabela thinly smiled at him.

"I'm game," Hawke's eyes sparkled, and everyone looked at her. "We all get our turns, make the rounds."

"What am I getting myself into," Anders muttered, before carefully slurring, "I'll play too."

"I've got nothing to hide," Varric said, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. "Should make for a good story in the end."

"Maker," Aveline sighed, looking to Donnic, who merely grinned in reply. "Yes, alright. Fine."

"It does sound like fun," Merrill said, "But what's to keep a person from lying?"

"The drink," Fenris rumbled, crossing his ankle over his knee.

"The truth serum of fools," Hawke said, grinning as she moved to the chair beside Anders. "And if I find out that any of you are hiding anything, so help me, you'll regret it more than speaking up."

"Where do you think you're going, Chantry-boy?" Varric said, drawing attention to Sebastian as he stood.

"I fear I have already caused too much damage with the amount imbibed," he replied, bowing his head.

"Our wine not good enough for you?" Fenris asked, hard eyes on the prince.

"No, of course not, my broth -"

"Then sit down," Fenris answered.

Sebastian glanced about the close room, sinking back into his chair as soft laugher followed him.

"For trying to escape, you get to go first, pretty boy," Isabela said, waggling her brow and linking her leg over the arm of her chair.

Glancing skyward in a silent prayer, Sebastian hesitated a moment before shrugging and saying, "Never have I ...owned a cat."

"Please," Isabela laughed, shaking her head as Donnic, Anders and Merrill took up their glasses. "What fun is that?"

"You had a cat?" Hawke asked Merrill, leaning into her hand.

"For a little while, anyway," Merrill said, nodding as she licked her lips. "I think it ran away. I'm not sure I was feeding it right."

"It should feed itself, kitten," Isabela grinned and said, "You go."

The elf glanced through the room thoughtfully before she said, "Never have I thrown up on a stranger."

Everyone but Fenris, and Aveline took up their glasses, much to Merrill's amusement.

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you toss your bits," the guard-captain said, her smile softening. "Better at holding your liquor than most here."

"It's because the drink is so weak," Merrill idly said, twirling a bit of her hair. "Not at all like what my clan had."

"Never have I lain with a mage," Varric said in good time, and Hawke rolled her eyes.

"Now you're just being mean," she laughed, knocking glasses with Anders to drink up.

"A pity that," Isabela said as she finished her drink and stood to refill it, "Entirely worth it."

"Here, here," Hawke said with sparkling eyes. "My turn," she demanded, expression more devious. "Never have I slept with Isabela."

"Spend every night with her," Isabela tipped her glass. "And it's grand."

"You won't catch me with that one," Varric replied, smirking and tapping his mug on the table, as eyes roamed to the hesitant hands.

Fenris scarce cracked a grin as he took up his glass for a drink, doing a double take as Merrill followed suit.

"What?" the Dalish girl asked. "It gets cold and she stays with me at times."

"I believe our dear Hawke had meant sexually, you sweet thing," Isabela made eyes at Hawke, "Lain with me as one might lay with a woman. As she lays with her mage."

"Oh? Oh," Merrill said as her eyes danced around. "I suppose that might count anyway, how does a woman lay differently than a man?" Light laughter followed.

"What? No more of you?" Hawke said as she raised a brow. "I'm disappointed."

"I have standards," Isabela replied, and the table jeered. She winked at Fenris, and he lifted his glass to drink again in reply. Tongue on her lip, the pirate hesitated before saying, "Never have I had red hair."

Aveline grumbled something slanderous and took up her glass, taking a deep drink as Donnic softly laughed.

Licking his lips, Donnic followed with, "Well I've never seen a templar naked."

"It's not that hard, you know," Hawke said from across the table, and she met Anders gaze as she drank deeply. Fenris, Isabela, Varric and Aveline in her periphery - and the guard earned a smack from his sweetheart. "You cannot tell me you haven't, Anders."

"No," he murmured, "Not ever. It wasn't very high on my list."

"It was a bet," Varric said, before Hawke could ask. "And no, it wasn't betting he'd take his clothes off, it was a bet he lost. Mighty amusing too, I might add. Was a cold night." He shivered mockingly and smacked his lips.

"Never have I ever... licked a lamppost in winter," Anders said, smirking as he looked at Hawke. The table laughed as the rogue finished her pint and smacked it down on the table. Isabela drank just as quick to match her, and Aveline a bit more slowly, blushing to her ears. Lips in a line, Fenris drank up.

"Ginger," Isabela said, eyes sparkling, "You prudish delight."

"Shut it, whore."

Donnic laughed and tugged the guard-captain closer, kissing her flushed cheek.

"That sounds dreadful," Merrill said, shaking her head. "Why would anyone wish to do that? Wouldn't it stick? Nevermind that, how do you get it off after?"

About to reply, Hawke's jaw dropped open as all eyes turned to Sebastian, who finished off his wine. Plunking her elbow on the table, she leant across Anders. "You do know we aren't discussing the city lampposts, right?"

"Indeed, serah," Sebastian replied, looking into the cup.

"This is why we play," Isabela said, wrapping an arm around Merrill as she lightly laughed. "Now if only I might succeed in making your cheeks shine so delightfully."

"I don't see what's so embarrassing," Merrill said. "There's always something I'm missing."

"Never have I been humped by a mabari," Varric chuckled, slouching in his chair. The Fereldens at the table groused and took up their drinks.

"What?" Hawke said as Anders peered at her. "When you own one, it's invariably bound to happen. He gets lonely."

"Please don't tell me that," he cringed.

"Fereldens - they love their dogs more than any of us," Isabela laughed, refilling the flagons around the table.

"I've never had a disease afflict my nethers," Aveline said, narrowing her eyes at the pirate. Isabela rolled her eyes and drank, in time with Sebastian and Hawke. Rivaini promptly choked on her drink, spewing the whiskey across the table.

"Didn't you say you were thirteen when you were sent to the Chantry?" Hawke slurred, unable to sit up right.

"No," Sebastian cleared his throat, cheeks coloured with the drink. Isabela had fallen onto Merrill laughing by this point. "It was some years after that."

"What about you?" Anders demanded.

"I got better?" she defended, smiling rakishly. "I was in the army, love, what goes around comes around."

"Maker's breath," Donnic laughed, sitting back with his arm around Aveline. All eyes turned to him, and he scratched the stubble on his face. "I've never been on a leash."

"Literally or proverbially?" Hawke countered, and he laughed.

"Literally."

Varric snorted and looked into his flagon, taking it up, "Shit." He drank deep along with Isabela, Fenris and Anders.

Hawke pointed at Fenris, "You I expected, but Varric my sweet - now I have to know."

"No, you don't Hawke."

"Yes, I do," she laughed, snorting and spilling her drink. "Mister 'I've got nothing to hide!'"

Varric grumbled and coughed, "Isn't it someone else's turn? Hawke isn't nearly drunk enough. Daisy?"

"I don't know," Merrill replied, holding her head up. "She looks pretty drunk."

"She's still awake," he sneered. "She's not."

"And what about you, my sexy renegade," Hawke drawled, draping her arm around Anders and mussing his hair. "A leash indeed, why don't we ever play that?"

"You ehm, never asked?" Anders cleared his throat, peering into his flagon. "Balls, it's been too long since I drank."

"Never have I ever," Fenris paused as all eyes redirected to him, "Stroked Varric's chest hair."

Varric smacked the table before covering his eyes, laughing his ass off as everyone else at the table took up their drinks.


	24. Find Your Way

"You should probably go find Blondie," Varric said as they trudged back along the docks. It had taken them some time to get back to the city from the isolated cavern system between the city and Gallows.

"I know," she quietly sighed.

"He seems to suffer so greatly," Merrill said, shaking her head. "I feel badly for him."

Hawke held her tongue, Anders' voice somewhere in her thoughts chiding the elf for her own drive to become an abomination all her own. But how he had looked in the caverns - he had nearly killed the young mage they'd saved from the templars. Rolling over her thoughts, she gradually said, "I'll go down to him."

"He brought it on himself," Fenris countered, eyes dark. "We should have killed him."

"Didn't Rivaini have something for you?" Varric asked, slipping his hand into Merrill's arm and directing her towards Lowtown.

"Me?" the elf asked, expression blank. It dawned on her soon enough, and her vibrant eyes lit with mischief. "Oh me... yes - yes she did! Thank the Creators you remembered for me!"

"That's what I'm here for, Daisy." Varric chuckled a bit, waving to Hawke once more before they disappeared.

The doors to his clinic were shut when Hawke stepped out from the cellar stairs into Darktown. The locks were cheap though, easily picked. Inside, the light was low, and she could hear Anders in the small room he kept for himself in the back. There was a crash and splinter of crushed wood, and she strode across the clinic to the doorway.

"...lying in wait far too long," Anders said to himself, fractured to reveal his spiritual cohort, his voice not his own. "More suffer yet, stalling this way!"

Hawke didn't move from her place by the door. When he turned, he immediately saw her, glowing sockets seeing without eyes.

"You," he grumbled, but stepping towards her, he shuddered and collapsed on himself. Clutching his head as he cowered, Anders made a tortured sound. "What are you doing here, Marian?"

"I think I sprained my ankle," she casually said, lifting up her foot. "And you're the best healer I know?"

Anders' head snapped aside, and he cracked his shoulders, though his voice was small, "How can you just say that? How can you just be this way after... after what I've done."

"You're right, it's probably not that bad," Hawke murmured. She linked her hands at her waist, watching him as he exhaled out, hands tensing and unclenching.

"I couldn't let you run away like that."

"I almost killed her!" Anders said, shaking his head as he came closer. "All the work we do, and I bloody well toss it to the sharks."

"We found the proof that the tranquil solution was never even entertained by the Chantry. And Ser Alrik is dead," Hawke quietly said. "That's an improvement. You're always telling me sacrifices need be made to liberate your fellow mages."

"I know," Anders shuddered, covering his face as he slumped own onto the small bed. "How is it fair to those who get trodden underfoot though? Is there any right in determining who is the lamb and who is saved?"

Hawke sighed softly, moving in front of him and pulling him in against her abdomen. Anders shuddered, wrapping his arms around her waist as he buried his face in her womanly cures. "You need to listen to yourself more often, my dear."

"Oh? Don't think I am unawares of how contradictory I can be," he said, his voice muffled. He sighed against her, arms tightening to pull her flush against him. "Maker, what am I doing?"

Hawke tangled her fingers in his hair, "What you think is right? If the templars didn't squeeze, the mages wouldn't pop like pimples."

"Lovely, Hawke," Anders wryly said, eyes still closed against her body.

"That's me, sweet, lovely me," Hawke grinned as he looked up to her. "In the end, that girl is free. You didn't hurt her. A little fear can go a long way."

Anders' eyes fell shadowed, and he looked away, "But I wanted to, Marian. He wanted to. And he is me."

"I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together," Hawke softly hummed.

"What?"

"Nothing," she plied the back of his neck like one might a cat. He reacted with similar action, exhaling heavily. "Just that we all have our demons inside. I cannot count the people I've killed, I cannot know how my actions weigh in the world... we all have influence. But if we act with conviction and passion, I believe we find our way."

Anders' arms fled up her back, snagging in the straps of her armour to pull Hawke down into his lips. His kiss bruised, rough with need as she crumpled into his arms. When her lips parted, he pulled at the straps, bits of her cuirass and belts flicked away, until he'd revealed enough skin that his mouth could latch on.

When Anders bit her breast, Hawke gasped in, closing her eyes as his mouth and teeth plied, his hands still ridding her of clothing - though her hands moved too. There was the rip of cloth as her undershirt tore, but their mouths were together again, and Hawke crawled into his lap, whipping away the belt around his waist as she did. Smiling devilishly, Hawke snapped it like a whip, and he just shook his head, cupping her face to kiss her again, scarce giving her time to breath.

"I don't deserve this," he panted as she pushed him back against the wall, his legs hanging off the small cot.

"Well I want you anyway, so there," Hawke replied, her nails down his chest and stomach before teasing between them and eliciting a shuddered sound. "And this too, mm?"

Hawke kissed him again before he could reply, letting her weight down to envelop him. Anders clawed up her back, red lines left on her skin as he thrust up into her, drawing a moan into the kiss. Planting her hand against the wall, she met his thrusts, grinding together and tensing her thighs. He softly panted as she fell into his neck, biting and catching his hair in her hand, and his voice grew rougher.

"Maker..."

Planting her lips by his ear, Hawke pulled at the skin with her teeth before panting out a reply of her own, their bodies rising together. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and his own gripped her ass, holding her firm as he drove up into her.

In a frantic thrust it was over, and Anders shuddered as she panted for breath. He clutched her body close, trembling more intensely as he hid his face in her breasts. Hawke tried to catch her breath, hands smoothing through his hair as she blinked in the dim light, aware of the quiet sound of his sob against her.

* * *

The clay vase tumbled off the table as Hawke slipped, cursing under her breath as she moved to catch it too late. In the process, she knocked the table over with her, the papers and books on it peppering her as she lay on the ground. She hiccupped, laying on the ground as her mabari roused and started barking. There were sounds upstairs.

"Who is there - Marian? Marian, come here."

"I am here, mother," Hawke drawled from her place on the floor, pushing away her dog as he bathed her face. "Worry not, his grace and I will keep the ruffians away."

The lamp Leandra held lit the wide chamber as she came downstairs, "Dear, are you al - you're drunk again. Grace, go lay down." The mabari moved about excitedly before trotting back to the fire as she clapped her hands.

"Really sweet mother," Hawke replied, getting up and making more noise in the process. The table fell again. "Drunk has such negative connotations."

Leandra sighed, and tried to support her weight. Anders appeared in the doorway from the library, his appearance dishevelled, "Would you help me, dear? She's going to wake the house. That poor Orana works herself to the bone, she needs what little rest she takes."

"Hey, it's my favourite mage," Hawke gushed, before her head lolled onto Leandra's shoulder. "Sorry, mother. Bethany is a very close second, cross my heart."

"Where have you been," she asked, furrowing her brow as Anders took most of Hawke's weight.

"In a bottle," Hawke hiccupped, her head hanging down. "Everything is so dreadfully heavy. But I had to go up-coast."

"In this state," Leandra sighed, and they guided Hawke up the stairs. "Keep her from falling?"

"I should have gotten you to join us after," Hawke said, her eyes closed as she leant into Anders, her face mushed in the feathers on his shoulder. "You're so soft, much better than a table or the floor."

"Only ever have to ask, love," Anders chuckled oddly, helping Leandra to strip Hawke out of her soiled vestments.

"I didn't think you'd want to," Hawke slurred. "Merrrrill you know. But I kept it. I kept that thing she wanted. It's here somewheres, we cannot let her have it. My precious, where are you?"

"Come on," Leandra sighed, and they poured Hawke into the bed.

"You didn't help her with the mirror?" Anders said, brushing her hair from her face. He took the glass of water Leandra gave him, and held it while Hawke drank it all.

"Goodness, no," Hawke replied, exhaling out as she lay like a rag doll on the bed. "There was a big stick monster. Dalish thing. It smelled like earth and bit like rose thorns. But it might be dead now. And I don't think Merrill likes me anymore." Her words trailed off as she passed out.

Leandra sighed, sitting on the end of the bed as Anders pulled the covers around Hawke, "Thank you, dear. I'm sorry she woke you."

"It's alright," he said, waiting for her. They looked on Hawke again before walking out of her room. He ran a hand over her face, "Wasn't sleeping in the most comfortable place."

"Asleep at the desk again," Leandra tsked and touched his arm. "You worry me as much as her, sometimes. You need to take care of yourself."

"That's very kind of you to say," Anders looked down, chuckling quietly. "Not enough hours in the day, though."

"Well we're up," Leandra sighed, slipping her hand in his arm. "Come sit and have some tea."

Sitting in the dark kitchen, Anders stoked the fire into flames again, putting water over it and making their tea before joining Leandra. "Thank you for making me feel at home here."

"I see how my little girl looks at you," Leandra said tiredly, tearing some bread and giving him half. "You take care of her, for all the cautious words you send her way. And she is more at ease knowing you are close and safe. Malcolm used to be like you - telling me I was better off without. Kirkwall was a much different place in those days. The Gallows were another world entirely."

"I forget sometimes that her father was a mage," Anders smiled weakly, looking sideways. "Times are different now. What wasn't safe before is a much greater risk now. For all I love her, I... I always worry."

"I doubt you could dissuade Marian if you tried," Leandra grinned.

"Oh I tried, I assure you," Anders replied, eating some of the bread. "Now, I don't know what I'd do without her."

"You are a person like any of us, Anders," Leandra said, putting her hand over his. "It warms my heart when I see the two of you together. Well, not on nights like this but..."

Anders chuckled, expression softening, "Thank you for saying so. I wish it were true."

"You are too hard on yourself," Leandra stood, drawing him close to kiss his brow. "I hear of the good things you do. Of your struggle. And Bethany speaks very highly of you. But I am too old for these hours and must get some rest. Thank you for looking out for my daughter the way you do. And get some sleep yourself. You need it, dear."

"I'll see if she's left me any room," Anders chuckled, looking in his cup as Leandra shuffled away in her nightgown.


	25. All That Remains

"My little girl has grown up so strong. I love you. You've always made me so proud."

Hawke trembled, clutching the cold weight of her mother.

There was silence in the underground chamber, save for the distant drip water. The sob that followed broke the quiet, echoing off the damp walls, and Hawke bowed over the body, twining her arms around it.

It didn't feel right, and she smelled like blood and death. She smelt like the fields at Ostagar, blighted and broken. The scent of hopelessness and defeat. It wasn't her - it was her face, a mask upon a corpse. Her voice in a hollow shell. But even that was gone now.

"Haw... Marian," Aveline said, her voice cracking as she came close. "There's nothing left for us here."

Hawke trembled lower, the sound of her pain cutting away as she buried her face against the corpse's chest. It was just as mother had said. She was all alone now. The tears came as the world numbed, unable to move from the ground as she held the body. Behind her, Varric and Aveline edged closer, as though testing the air around a fire. They looked to Anders as Hawke gupped a breath, the sound shivering the air.

"Her spirit is gone to a better place," Anders quietly said, kneeling to pry Hawke away from the body. He had to forcibly move her arms, supporting her weight as he pulled her to her feet. "Come, love."

Hawke had no words, unable to look away from the foreign eyes that stared at nothing, the lips that had moved with her mother's voice. If only she had been there - if only she had seen the flowers. If only to tease her mother, if only to think of the lilies. But Anders was dragging her farther away, and she was silent, her eyes glistening.

Varric stooped to get Hawke's daggers as Aveline picked up the body.

"That's not her," Varric said under his breath as he looked at Hawke.

"Leandra was just butchered before her eyes," Aveline hissed under her breath, shouldering the weight. "No man should be themselves after that."

Watching as Anders tighten his grip on Hawke to pull her away, even as the rogue seemed to fight him, Varric quietly said, "I meant the body. That... that isn't her mother's body."

Aveline exhaled deeply, blinking her eyes closed and gritting her teeth. It was a moment before she whispered, "Help me look. I.. I cannot bear to mutilate the good woman any further."

"I know," Varric said, nodding until his eyes fell down. "I know."

* * *

The fire was burning bright. Bodahn had the courtesy to pile the logs high before he had retired for the night, some utterance of sympathy on his lips. Somehow the way it scalded her skin when she sat so close was comforting. But the house still seemed empty and cold. Because it was.

"Is there anything you need, Mistress?"

Hawke sniffed in, veiling her eyes as she quietly said, "No Orana. Thank you for asking. You may go for the evening."

"Yes, Mistress," the elf hesitated in the doorway. "I am sorry for what happened to your mama. She was the most kind Mistress I ever had - next to you, of course. I mean no offense!"

"None taken," Hawke reassured, struggling for composure. "She was very fond of you and all the fine work you do."

"Thank you," Orana replied, looking down at her hands. "I will miss her."

"So will I," Hawke emptily replied, eyes glazing over again. Soon she was alone.

Hawke took up the tumbler and finished off the whiskey, before snagging the bottle from the ground beside her and topping it off to the point of spilling. She wasn't sure how well she'd be moving soon, best she not need to try and pour again. When Gamlen had left, she hadn't hesitated to break into the bottle.

There was a well of bitterness blinking alongside the painful abyss. Anders had been in the clinic all day. She knew how much the poor of Kirkwall needed his services - how much he cared for the Fereldens who struggled still. But she didn't care much about any of them or it today.

Aveline had walked with her to the chantry when the remnants of her mother were placed on the pyre. Even Viscount Dumar had shown face, a testament to the height her family had climbed since their return to Kirkwall. Varric's usually droll mannerisms cracked along with his voice as he touched her arm.

There were no more tears though, and she knew it worried them. The liquor made it easier, softening the edges of the world away and the pain of loss was left sputtering. Softening the blame she could not escape.

Hawke leant on her knees staring into the dance of flames, her skin prickling hot from her proximity. It made the walls of books around her fade to darkness, and leave only the purity of the light. The fire that consumed what bits and pieces remained of Leandra Hawke. There were footsteps in the main hall.

"I'm sorry," Ander's voice echoed from the doorway. "I - I should have been here sooner. There was a collapse, and I had children to tend to."

"It's alright," Hawke evenly replied, still looking at the fire. She drank another finger of scotch. "I know they need you. Your dedication is part of what I love about you."

"Really?" Anders almost laughed, but the sound was empty.

Hawke nodded, her chin falling down as her eyes drifted to the glowing embers beneath the flames. She blinked rapidly, feeling her eyes water at the strain of staring at the fire. It was the fire. Of course it was.

"Have you been down here all day?" Anders softly asked.

"Not all day," Hawke replied, her words beginning to slur. "I had a lovely time at the chantry. There was a barbeque. Care for a drink?"

"You know Justice doesn't like it when I do," he replied, reaching to take the glass from her hand. "Come upstairs?"

"Are you offering to carry me? Because I don't quite imagine myself able to walk," Hawke blinked rapidly, finally looking up at him as he put a hand on the back of her chair. "It might be entertaining for you, though."

"Come on then," Anders sighed, pulling her up. When she almost went limp, he steeled his arms and pulled her close. "You know you reek worse than the Hanged Man."  
"My ineffab...ineffavle charm, I asssssure you."

Anders shook his head and tried to help Hawke walk, though her feet dragged as they made it to the stairs, "You and your many charms, my dear."

"Oh yes, mmm quite sure," Hawke replied, expression almost comical as she tried for air. "Adept at mm getting 'er family killed. Bethany is shtill alive, I hope?"

"Last my contacts said, yes. Though... she doesn't know about your mother yet."

"She will," Hawke replied in a moment of lucidity. They were clumping up the stairs slowly, and she leant into Anders as she dragged her feet. "Uncle was here."

"Andraste's tits, like you needed him to make it worse," Anders muttered.

"He wussright," Hawke drawled, stumbling again before Anders let her collapse into the bed. The lithe woman rolled her head, choking on her breath before she said, "Maker knows I failed her. Like I failed Bethany. Like I failed Carver. Like I failed father."

Anders furrowed his brow, maintaining an awkward distance as Hawke pulled at her garments, "I.. I know nothing I could say will help."

"It doeshnt matter," Hawke replied, throwing her shirt. Anders tugged it off his face, sitting down beside her as she lay on the bed, one of her arms slung off the side.

"Yes, it does," Ander's voice softened, and Hawke stopped her struggle with her clothing. She sat back up, moving with a distinct lethargy.

"I should have done mooore," Hawke quietly said, her voice raw. She was staring at the fire again, and Anders shuffled closer, putting his hand over hers.

"You can't save everyone, Marian," he said, furrowing his brow.

"I should have saved her. I could have. If… if I'd only done more. If I'd only helped Ser Emeric all those years ago," Hawke shook her head, staring at the fire. "If I'd stopped…"

Anders squeezed tighter, and she looked at their hands, "Is there anything I can do?"

"Don't go," Hawke replied, slumping against him. "You're all that remains. I won't fail you."

"I know you won't," he whispered, closing his eyes.

Hawke leaned closer to him before her expression paled. Slipping off her bed onto her knees, she scarce made it to the chamber pot before she vomited.

"Never able to hold your liquor," he sighed, cringing as she retched. Kneeling down beside her, he gathered the hair away from her face as she shivered. "I know… I can hold your hair…"

"Always so good to me," Hawke drawled, her voice echoing in the metal pot. She spit and stayed there, hanging her head as she shuddered. "I should give you the job in an official capacity."

"Lucky me," Anders murmured, looking away as she heaved again.

* * *

"What do you want here, girl," Gamlen said from where he sat drinking. "Isn't it enough you've got that fancy house up in Hightown?"

Hawke hung her head, standing in the small bedroom. There was no hint of her there, no smells that had always accompanied her - but she could still feel her mother there. "It's never enough, you should know that, uncle."

"A likely story," he snorted.

"This was as much our home as anywhere," Hawke followed with, turning over an empty ink well. "You know we were always moving. What is one more."

"Nothing fancy here," Gamlen said, hanging his head. His voice trembled, "You look so much like her. Just go away."

Hawke frowned and turned through the small house, leaving a few coins on the table before escaping into the streets of Lowtown. She walked aimlessly amidst the refugees and beggars - she could hear Ferelden in their words. It still seemed like she'd return home sweaty and stinking, and her mother would be there to greet her with a kiss and kind word. Laughing over something his grace had done, worrying about Anders, or with gossip from the other nobles.

Hair wind torn, Hawke eventually made it home, sweeping through the door before Bodahn could express as much as a word. She settled onto a settee outside of her bedroom, staring at the door to Leandra's room. It had been almost a month. She scarce looked up when Anders followed her up the stairs to sit beside her. He took her hand and she looked down.

"Some days I miss it all so much," Hawke quietly said. "I need to send his grace out in the rain so I can soak up some wet dog."

Anders wrapped his arm around her shoulder, "We could go to the docks or something, if you were really keen on bad smells."

Hawke laughed once, sighing as she leant her head against him.

"We could go in there? Who knows what she has – what she'd want you to have…"

"No," Hawke said, her voice gravelly. "No, we can't."

"You can't leave the door locked forever."

"Can't I?" Hawke asked, lifting her head. She strained, "Please, love, I.. I cannot do that. Please just.. leave it."

"Alright," Anders replied lightly, squeezing her again as she slumped back into him.

"I know it's ridiculous," Hawke murmured. "But I feel like she'll come back. And if I go in there, if I move things and let in the light and air, she won't. She's still alive in there… I can't destroy that."

* * *

"I'm sorry I cannot make it here as often," Hawke quietly said, slouched heavily in the chair. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was dull. "The viscount's needs grow more and more by the day, I swear."

"It's not like I would be able to make it to see you more often," Bethany quietly said, pacing around the small office. "I worry about you."

"No worries for me," Hawke smiled tiredly, standing up to snag her sister and hug her. "Maker, I miss you."

"I've been in here all these years," Bethany quietly said. "I've gotten used to not seeing you and mother. I can just tell myself she isn't here this week. But you saw her every day, Marian. You are all alone in that house now."

"Simply means I can live in the buff as I please," Hawke murmured in reply.

Bethany pulled back, looking up to her, "You need people. You shouldn't be isolated."

"I'm not," Hawke replied, a slight colour on her cheeks. "Anders is living with me. And there is always Orana - and Sandal and Bodahn, I won't be rescinding mother's hospitality. Besides, I think his grace is enchanted by the young dwarf."

"Anders – you're living together now?" Bethany half-smiled as Hawke sat on the edge of Orsino's desk.

"Yes," Hawke smiled wistfully, "Just before mother…"

"She must have been so happy to see you with someone," Bethany smiled in return, but it soon faded. "I still can't believe she's gone."

Hawke pulled her sister close as Bethany started crying again, caressing her hair. Her voice cracked, "I'm sorry you're stuck with just me now. Pity that."

"Oh Marian," Bethany cried, hugging her tightly.

"Shhh," Hawke softly said, swaying them back and forth. "She's with father and Carver now. She will not ache for them any longer."

"I know," Bethany shuddered, laying her cheek on Hawke's shoulder. "Maker, I know. It doesn't make it any easier."

"I could step on your foot if it might distract from the pain," Hawke said, drawing her sister back and arching a brow. "No? A sharp kick in the shin?"

Bethany tried not to laugh, wiping her eyes as she said, "I think I miss that most of all."

"Me kicking you? How about that."

"No," she laughed, pushing Hawke. "Your humour. There is so little laughter here."

There was a knock at the door, and Orsino stepped in, "I apologize for the intrusion."

"It is your office, First Enchanter," Bethany said, sniffing in as she turned away.

"Hardly, how dare you intrude," Hawke scoffed, sitting on his desk again.

Orsino was unfazed, and he pressed the door closed, "Morning mass is nearly finished. They will expect me here."

"Thank you so much for allowing us to meet here," Bethany said, reaching for his hand. "For letting me see her."

Orsino's expression warmed, and he squeezed it, "Had I my own wish, you could see your sister any time you desired. As is, I will make do with what little power I am granted."

"And I must meet the viscount for breakfast," Hawke said, standing and clearing her throat. "I suppose I've let him stew long enough?"

Bethany stepped away from Orsino, linking her arms around Hawke's neck. She sighed and squeezed, "Be strong, sister. Tell Anders to take care of you."

"I will try," Hawke chuckled. She sighed and closed her eyes. "I will be back as soon as I can."


	26. Sanctuary in You

Hawke darted and moved through her forms, panting softly as she swung the daggers, impacting with the dummy. She rolled and continued the assault, flowing to kick high with nimble grace. Her arm jarred as she stabbed the wood, reminiscent of stabbing stone - of the Deep Roads. She cried out and threw her shoulder into the motion, cracking part of the training dummy.

Stalking to the next target, she threw her daggers down and punched the bag, breathing hard through her nose as she bloodied her fists on the stuffed post. She flowed and snapped into a series of kicks, snagging another dagger from the small of her back to draw across an imaginary throat. Flipping backward, she kipped off her hands and landed on one of the crates in the cellar. Scarce hesitating, she dove forward, rolling to her blades to rise into a series of slashes and stabs on the training dummy.

Wheezing, Hawke was about to stop when a rush of energy tingled through her limbs, and her eyes brightened. She spun around as she heard her mabari whimper. Anders was sitting on the steps.

"Remind me not to piss you off," he murmured, ruffling the dog's ears. The hound got up as Hawke sheathed her daggers, running to lick his mistress' wrapped hands and face as she knelt.

"How long have you been there?" she asked breathlessly.

Anders shrugged, "Depends what you're asking. Twenty minutes? All night? A few months?"

"Smart ass," she grinned, strolling over to him. She pulled the leather tie out of her hair, shaking her dark brown tresses loose.

"Better than a dumb ass," he murmured, linking his arms around her thighs to pull her close. "Isn't that what you always say?"

"Quite, but using magic on me here in the manor." Hawke smiled tiredly, running her hands into his hair. "Might not be the brightest. You could have gotten my attention in another way. If I'd known, I might have sauntered over to see you sooner."

"I should have said something," Anders replied. "You have been pushing yourself very hard. You needed it, look at your hands."

"I feel better when I'm tired. Less thinking," Hawke said, as he turned over her fist and kissed her knuckles. "Unless you can think of another way to tire me out?"

Anders squeezed her thighs, sighing as the mabari came and insinuated himself between them. "I'm not sure his grace would be pleased."

Hawke whistled and pointed up the stairs, "To the barracks with you! Find Aveline."

The mabari sat on his haunches a moment before grousing and trotting off.

"I'm tempted to traumatize the help," Hawke breathlessly said, fingers in his hair again. "Though perhaps bending me over a table in the library would be less damaging."

Hawke pushed him back and easily evaded his grasp, up the steps into the house. It took him a minute to find her in the library. Anders shut the door behind him as she took off her belt and sheaths and left them on the floor. He caught her wrist and pinned her for a kiss, edging her back against the bookshelf.

"The smell of parchment and books," he whispered against her lips, closing his eyes as her mouth sunk into his neck. "Reminds me of the Circle in Ferelden."

"Oh?" Hawke said in a breath, laying her head back against the shelf as she undid his coat.

"Sadly I don't wear the robes I used to," he murmured, lips over the sweat on her skin as he ran a hand up her thigh. "And no one's watching."

"I could call for Bodahn," Hawke snickered, and almost yelped when he bit her. She laughed, "Or Sandal? Let's not traumatize Orana."

"No audience, please," Anders smirked, and she leant into his hands as she kicked her trousers down. He pinned them on the floor, and she tugged free of them. Kissing her lips hungrily once more, he sunk down to his knees, taking her smalls with him.

Hawke made a soft sound of surprise as she leant back against the books, feeling Anders kiss the sweaty curve of her hip as he linked he leg over his shoulders. "No, no audience I think."

"We always had to stay quiet," he murmured, trailing his tongue over her pelvis. She tensed in reply, and he wrapped an arm around her thigh. "Can you, Marian?"

"Keep my mouth shut?" she inhaled, trying to steady a hand on the bookshelf as he plucked at her inner thigh with his lips. "Maker, you're cruel."

Anders sighed and buried his face between her thighs, breathing deep before his fingers dragged over the dampness there. "I keep telling you, I'm no good."

"I don't know," she whispered, rising on her toe as his tongue found home. She half-sat on the shelf beneath her, hips urging to his mouth, "Seem damned good to me."

Hawke clutched his hair, choking her moan away as she laid her head back again. Breathing over her sex, Ander's lapped and swirled his tongue, bearing her weight on his shoulder as she tensed. He closed his eyes, soaking up the scent before burying his fingers in her and eliciting a louder groan. When she leant more heavily into the shelving, the wood fractured, and she fell down an inch.

"Shit," Hawke almost laughed, trying to subdue her grin as he pressed deeper, suckling the nub at the fount of her sex. She tugged his hair, urging her hips and tightening her slender leg around his shoulder, drawing a chuckle from him. "Breaking the décor."

Anders fell back on his knees, wiping his mouth and stubble as he looked up to her, met with a devious glint in her eyes. Hawke kicked her trousers further away, scratching her hand atop his head to urge him up. She kissed him quick, his hands snaking under loosened armour to devour her skin at much the same time her own fingers tugged open his belt. He shucked his coat, tossing it on the ground as she knelt into one of the armchairs.

Resting her knee on the arm of the chair, Hawke snagged his shirt as Anders pressed up against her back. His hands wound up her abdomen, snagging over her clothes until he cradled his fingers against her throat. She reached through her legs to guide him to her, breathing in sharply as he kissed her neck and filled her. Eyes closed, she braced herself on the back of the chair, held in his arms as he thrust up into her.

Turning her head all she could, Hawke kissed him, drawing a deep moan as Anders gripped her tighter. It gave him leverage, holding her body as their tongues twine, flavoured from her sex. When she pulled away to breath, he buried his face in her hair, panting and closing his eyes.

"Marian," he groaned, possessively clutching her as he thrust in, and she quivered, pressing back against him. He could smell the sweat and sun in her hair, and he kissed her leather-clad shoulder, exhaling sharply through his nose.

Hawke shuddered, closing her eyes to the fatigue of her body and falling into the delicious shiver that drove it all away. It made the world melt, the mages, templars and death gone, just leaving the feel of his body and the need in his hands over the rush of her pulse. Her thoughts dissolved into his sighs.

When they were spent and collapsed, Anders pulled her into his lap, eyes closed as he breathed roughly. Their naked thighs stuck together, and Hawke tucked her head against his neck, fingers over the Tevinter Chantry amulet that hung there.

"I love you," she whispered drowsily.

"I know," he replied, closing his hand over hers and the amulet. He almost sounded pained. "I love you."

* * *

"They act like it's all the mages fault! But if Meredith and her templars would just treated them respectfully like human beings, none of this would happen!" Hawke snapped, clenching her hands into fists.

"Is it any wonder I love you?" Anders replied, putting his head in his hand as he watched her.

Hawke almost smiled, but the set of her determined chin didn't change, "Shouldn't be a wonder, you should be grateful. Someone as heroic, amazing and well-spoken as me."

"And so very modest," he murmured as Varric laughed. It was then Fenris walked in, and they all tensed a bit.

"What took you so long?" Hawke asked, crossing her arms. The tattooed elf was unfazed.

"I am not a dog at your beck and call," he coldly said, narrowing his eyes.

"No," she amended, "His grace keeps his appointments far better."

"Though there is something lacking for the smell," Varric said, smiling as Edwina arrived with a tray of drinks and bread. "Thank you, beautiful."

"Hmph," the woman rolled her eyes and disappeared back into the hall.

"So why did you want me here, Hawke?" Fenris asked, crossing his arm in a mirror of her stance.

Closing her eyes and lowering her hackles, Hawke rest a hand on the mantle and sighed, "You're very good with a blade, Fenris. And Maker knows why, I trust you at my back."

"Perhaps some part of you knows I am right," he replied, looking at Anders. "And you will see that the path you follow only causes others to suffer."

"I didn't ask you here for a lecture," Hawke said, looking at him again.

"No," Fenris said, "Why would I be allowed to give one? Though perhaps your mother might have done well to heed my words."

"Don't even go there," Anders said, standing out of his chair. "You have no right."

"Don't I?" he replied. "Leandra Amell deserved better than she got. And if it hadn't been for the mage that butchered her, she would still be alive. Tell me if she's better off without magic."

Hawke turned with nimble grace, but caught herself and tightened her hand into a fist. She grated her teeth, "It isn't magic that killed her – and I know that. Nor will I blame every mage for what happened to her. I wouldn't blame every swordsman if she'd been stabbed in the street."

"No, but you'd certainly be more cautious of your family walking them," Fenris nodded.

"Then lock me up, because I am bloody good with my daggers," Hawke waved a hand, snagging one of the flagons of ale to drink and quiet herself.

"Come on, Broody," Varric appealed, "Let me buy you a drink."

"You can't simply placate me that way. At least not with the swill they serve here," Fenris said, watching Hawke stalk back towards Anders. "It is hardly the same, Hawke."

"You seem to know so much about the qunari, Fenris," Hawke said as she slouched into her chair, her armour clunking. Her eyes were dark, deep circles around them. "Is not my blade a piece of me? My very soul? Is that not the same as magic – should I not be held just as accountable for my actions with it?"

"And you would be, if you were not slaying criminals that prey on the weak," He nodded, leaning on the wall.

"Shouldn't anyone who takes up a blade – who wields their soul – be thought of as just as dangerous as a mage? Any of us can kill, I can make you bleed and suffer, and I am not a mage. Why am I given the choice and they are not?"

"No matter how hard you try, you will not simply become an abomination because of your sword," Fenris said.

"I don't know," Varic idly said, rubbing the oiled cloth down Bianca. "I'm inclined to think anyone using a sword is a bit of an abomination - an affront to such a fine lady. But then, you're one of a kind."

"Do you really have to touch her like that?" Hawke bridged a hand over her brow. "In front of us?"

The dwarf shrugged, putting his foot up on another chair. "My minx needs the attention she deserves. Especially when things get tense." Hawke rolled her eyes and they were all silent, save for Varric, who started humming as he tended to his life partner.

"I just don't get it, Fenris," Hawke finally said. "You were a slave. You were forced into things you didn't want, you fight against injustice. How are mages justly treated?"

"The Chantry is corrupt beyond persuasion," Anders added, nodding. "Andraste was more than a martyr against magic, she was a slave. Would she want this? Would she want another set of slave quarters – because that's what the Circles are." When Fenris shook his head, he continued, "What would she think of what the world that has been wrought in her name? It's just another set of damned chains for another pair of hands. We are no better – the Chantry is no better. At least Tevinter doesn't hide what they are."

"Do not speak to me of things that you cannot comprehend," Fenris pointed at Anders, growing rigid. "The things that magisters do… you have no idea."

"At least they aren't hypocritical!"

Fenris bristled and shook his head.

"The Chantry lives anathema to everything Andraste strove for," Hawke interjected. "It wasn't concentrated on action against mages, against magic – it was concentrated on the subjugation of her people under the thumbs of slavers and the Imperium." She drank the rest of her flagon, spinning it empty onto the table, "Something I'm sure you can appreciate, Fenris."

The elf closed his eyes and finally sighed, his arms still crossed, "There is much wrong with the world and how it is run."

"You can say that again," Anders said, looking as Hawke touched his hand. "I just want to be given the chance to be good – I want mages to be given the chance."  
Hawke nodded, "You teach a child to lift a sword, to not put his hand in an open flame, and mages need that too. To be schooled in their life, but not imprisoned for something they had no choice in. They deserve the right to choose between good and evil." Shaking her head, Hawke stood up, "They need knowledge. Like all of us."


	27. Moving On

Bartrand's absent eyes turned as Varric said his name again, unable to quite focus as he sat up more, "Is that you, little brother?"

"Who else would come see someone like you," Varric said with a smirk, clearing his throat. It was the third time the eldest son of House Tethras had greeted them thusly. "Just checking in."

"Always trying to get under my skin," Bartrand said, shaking his head as he looked back towards the iron windows of the sanatorium. It seemed odd that the sun shone in, revealing the cracked stone underfoot. But even the breeze it brought could not be rid of the scent of urine and must. "I - I keep imagining there is something there. Do you hear it, brother?"

"We were thinking of going into the gardens," Varric said, his voice cracking. "You can see the mountains."

"All that sky," Bartrand said. "Mother was always wary."

"But here we are," Varric chuckled, "Feet still firm on the ground."

"I don't know if I can feel it," Bartrand narrowed his eyes. "It's almost there."

Hawke crossed her arms, maintaining her distance as she looked down. Bartrand's eyes had glazed again. Varric finally gave him a clap on the back, before turning to the doorway where she was. He shook his head and they walked down the hall, past the waiting lay sister. It wasn't until they had made it past the gate and were back on the road to Kirkwall that they spoke.

"I don't know what possessed me to put him here," Varric mumbled, hands deep in his coat pockets. "Damned Chantry wenches."

"He seems to be doing better," Hawke said, sucking at her bottom lip before adding, "Less drool."

Varric laughed emptily and nodded, before soberly saying, "Yeah." He sighed and looked skyward, "Why do I come here, Hawke?"

"Because you're a glutton for punishment," she replied, arching a brow. "I could tweak a nipple if you'd like? Push you down and kick you? No? Well, the offer's there."

"And if not you, I'm sure Isabela would happily oblige."

"Indeed," Hawke said, resting a hand on his head and prompting the dwarf to roll his eyes. "Though I guarantee it wouldn't be half as enjoyable."

Varric smacked her hand away, smirking as they trudged along the road. It wasn't until they were around the next bend that the quietly said, "You're a good friend, Hawke."

"Inspiring folk like us need to stick together," Hawke said, clasping her hands behind her as she walked with him. She grinned a little, "Makes all the others look terrible. And who can resist that?"

* * *

Hawke knelt behind Anders' back, her legs spread around his hips as she drew the brush through his hair. His eyes were closed and his head hung forward, lax and moving with ease with each tug of the brush. He softly sighed.

"You spoil me."

"Someone has to," Hawke quietly replied, tilting her head and massaging her fingers over his head as she brushed. He sighed and his posture slumped more in relaxation. "You're a tom cat not used to the preening, but ohhh how you purr when you are petted properly."

"I'm not sure I ever want to get used to this," he quietly said.

Hawke leant forward, kissing his cheek before slipping off the bed. She returned with a bowl and filled it with warm water from the fire. She set it in his lap before kneeling behind him again, dropping a small kit beside her. Skin to skin, she wrapped her arms around his waist and whispered, "I have a bit of a proposal."

"Oh?" Anders softly said, closing his eyes as she ran her hands up his body.

Lathering up a brush, Hawke pulled him back flush against her breasts, before smearing the foamy soap up the underside of his neck and over his cheeks, "Yes. I thought you might like to go somewhere with me."

"Hmmm," Anders replied, pressing his lips together as she smeared the soap over them and beneath his nose. He closed his eyes.

Hawke dragged the straight blade over a bit of leather in a learned motion, before cradling his head against her shoulder. Hand on his forehead, she dragged the blade up his elongated neck, scraping away the soap and stubble. As she shaved, he sighed, and she whispered, "There is the viscount's harvest ball in a week's time."

Anders murmured incoherently, held carefully against her and unwilling to open his lips. The blade dragged up his neck, before Hawke flecked it down into the water to clean it and repeat the motion. He closed his eyes and sighed out of his nose before wiping the foamy soap off his lips, "When you have a blade to my throat."

"What good is a veiled threat otherwise," Hawke casually said, washing the blade again. Water dripped down his bare chest as she tilted his head sideways, paying heed to the stubble on his cheek. "I can think of no one more sexy than you to drape on my arm and flaunt in front of the nobles."

Anders held his breath as she flecked the blade, quickly skinning away the soap and hair. He exhaled out again, relaxing against her as she tilted his head the other way, "So you'll just parade me about? The mage you're living with?"

"They don't know you're a mage," Hawke defended. "Under your nose."

Obligingly tightening his lip down, Anders waited until she had dragged the blade before replying, "I... I don't know, Marian."

"Mother always used to go to these functions," she quietly replied, taking the cloth beside her and dipping it in the hot water. She laid it over his face. "But... I am the head of the Amell family now, for all accounts. I have to go - but I'd rather you were there with me so I might have at least a scrap of fun."

Anders sighed beneath the warm towel, leaving his head against her a bit. Finally, he leant forward, wiping the excess soap from his face and neck, "Thank you." He dropped the cloth in the bowl and stood up, placing it on the table.

Hawke's eyes fell down his body, and she let her hands drop to her thighs, "I'll let you pick my dress?"

"You?" Anders lips quirked, and he turned around. "In a dress?"

"Yes, I know," Hawke rolled her eyes. "The neighbours are all abuzz at the prospect. Imagine if I show up with a man dressed the part too?"

Running a hand over his smooth shave, Anders hummed a moment before being pulled back onto the bed with Hawke.

"Just think," she whispered, pulling his head to rest against her breasts as she laid back. "They'll be none the wiser. From what I've heard, Meredith never shows - and she is the only templar anywhere near invited. We can drink and dance and just..." She sighed a little, fingers through his hair.

Kissing her breast, Anders crawled over her to find her lips. She tangled his hair more, prompting a soft chuckle in his throat, before he said, "Just be normal people. A couple in love."

"Yes," she replied, hands down his body. "A night off. Please? It's my birthday?"

"It is?" Anders furrowed his brow, lips pulled into hers. He softly groaned as she teased him hard.

"No, not really," Hawke replied with a chuckle, and mussed his hair more.

"Didn't you just finish brushing that?"

"Yes," Hawke sighed, closing her eyes as he mouthed her neck, suckling and letting his tongue swirl. "Suppose I shall have to again." He murmured against her, unheard, and she wrapped a leg around him to pull him closer. "That was a yes?"

"You're very manipulative," he whispered, rubbing his smooth chin against her breast. He sighed and spoke one word before tugging the ring on her nipple, "Yes."


	28. The Precipice

"No drinking," Hawke said under her breath as Orana finished with her gown and hair. "Thank you, dear. Maker, what was I thinking?"

"It was your idea to go," Anders said, standing by the doorway in his formal attire. He moved as the young elf smiled and went down the stairs, watching Hawke check herself in the mirror.

"I can scarce breath," she murmured, pressing her breasts, which were tightly held in the dress. "I had to be fashionable."

"And that aside, you look beautiful," Anders said, chuckling as he stepped up behind her, hands on her waist. "Not that you aren't always."

"Nice recovery," Hawke grinned, putting her hand over his. She turned around. "Still up for this."

Anders closed his eyes, drawing a breath through his nose before he said, "Perhaps we should go before I change my mind. This is absolutely insane."

"So it fits in perfectly," Hawke replied, taking the arm he offered. "Glad you agree."

It was evening and there was a cool breeze from the sea as they ascended the steps to the Viscount's Keep. Hawke stopped them at the top, waving away the guards that came to inspect them. She recognized one of them and muttered under her breath.

"These bloody shoes," she sucked in a breath, walking slowly with Anders again. "Makes me think most women are more masochistic than even I am."

Somehow, Hawke carried herself with a modicum of decency through most of the evening. She drifted amidst the nobles, accepting their accolades with a tactful word and smile, staying only long enough for them to admire but short enough they couldn't begin to ask questions about the dashing man on her arm. As the night waned, they made it into an atrium, whose wide windows overlooked the dark, terraced city below.

"Good thing I left my weapons at home," Hawke lightly said, maintaining her politic smile. "These people are ridiculous."

"They seem so out of touch with everything," Anders quietly sighed, tucking a stray hair back over her ear. "You're better than them."

"Oh, I know," Hawke chuckled, flexing a hand as she maintained her posture. The slender room was quiet, though the minstrels from the hall could be still heard.

"Serah Hawke."

Hawke turned and her smile grew more natural as she inclined her head, "Saemus. I hadn't expected to see you here."

"Nor I you," he replied, joining them amidst the flowery vines that crawled the wall. "In a gown, no less. My father's doing in both our cases, I imagine."

"He does usually get what he wants," Hawke chuckled.

"Yes," Saemus' expression faded and he looked down. Shaking away the melancholy, he almost grinned. "And you serah, I recognize as well."

"Perhaps not the best thing to mention," Anders cleared his throat, keeping a hand on the small of Hawke's back.

"Indeed," he nodded, and they all looked out the window. "I'm glad to see you though. I hope your voice of reason can have a place here in the keep. I know my father has you involved in many... unsavoury tasks."

"I try to do what I can to keep everyone from killing themselves in the end," Hawke murmured. "But they are often so very keen."

"It is a pity," Saemus shook his head. "The qunari are not our enemies. They fill a role." He exhaled, expression heavy before he reached for Hawke's hand, "I am glad to see you, Serah Hawke. You have been a friend to my family, and to me. Please help my father understand."

"I will do what I can?" Hawke said, and Saemus nodded before disappearing from the ball. She tilted her head, watching him go before she said, "Did I miss something?"

"You and me both," Anders replied, stifling shifting in his formal attire. "Perhaps we have stayed long enough?"

"Yes," Hawke's expression warmed to him. "We shall visit the viscount and take our leave of this stuffy air."

* * *

Hawke stood amidst the nobles as Saemus' body was taken to the pyre, given to the viscount without any restraint. He had died by the Qun - the body was but a vessel, a husk that no longer held the being within. Another who lay dead because of her inaction - because she stayed her hand. She looked to where Aveline stood with her honour guard, rigidly saluting as Viscount Dumar followed the cart that bore his son.

Around them, the chantry courtyard was dormant and faded into wintery hues, though hints of green clung here and there. Hawke's breath was visible in the air as she fell into line behind him - it marked her rank in the city. Some days it seemed odd to be where she was, second in power only to him. And to Meredith, as many often said. They walked the long road to the stone pyre at the far end. The viscount slowed until she was beside him.

"Thank you for coming, Hawke," Dumar's voice was raw, his features aged and his eyes reddened by the loss.

"I have learned well the pain of loss, messere," she replied, her eyes down as the congregation of nobles followed them.

"That you have," he sighed, head hanging heavy. "The world is a troubled place, and I think most are half-mad."

"Only half?" she replied.

"An old man can hope," Dumar's voice strained. "Where did I go wrong?"

"Let none of this fall on you, milord." Hawke replied, nodding as she followed his gaze to Saemus' enshrouded body. "It was the work of intolerance and religious zeal. He chose a path that others did not want him to follow. He was a good person - that is what I will remember. An intelligent, dedicated young man."

"Does that make it any easier?"

"No," Hawke replied, hands clasped behind her. The nobles behind them shivered in their heavy woollen coats, but she walked tall, easily bearing the stiff wind. "To good people, loss is never easy."

"Thank you for your kind words," Dumar said, stopping beside her as the brothers from the chantry moved Saemus' body. Sebastian was in her periphery, his face stricken as the Grand Cleric moved away from him. "I will need you at my side in the coming months."

"You have but ask," Hawke replied, dropping her chin. "Kirkwall is my home. I will do anything I can to protect it."

"The real question is - can we protect her from herself?"

"We can certainly try," Hawke said, taking his arm as he weakened. The fires were lighting.

"My boy," he crumpled into his hands, standing in her hidden support. "You did not deserve this. No one deserves this." He began to weep, and Hawke stood resolute, eyes dry.

There was tension in the words under people's breath around her, and she scarce listened as Grand Cleric Elthina stood to speak. Hawke knelt as was expected of her, the lip service empty as her thoughts strayed elsewhere, the words of another prominent in her mind.

 _We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap._


	29. Betrayal

Hawke screamed as the mage turned on her, the crackle of electrical energy up her limbs leaving her reeling back. Her vision flared red, and she snap-kicked the woman's legs, falling upon her with her daggers to dig into her gut. Blood welled, and the Tevinter mage choked on her words, struggling beneath Hawke until the blade came over her throat. She was struggling to her feet as the nausea in her stomach evaporated, a healing light suffusing her limbs.

"Where - where is she?" Hawke panted.

"You're smoking," Anders said, about to cast another spell, but she waved him away.

"It's a terrible habit I know, I'm trying to quit," Hawke replied, her clothing charred from the magic.

"She ran back into the street," Aveline said, expression dour. "Leaving us to fight for our lives."

"Maker, she better have the bloody book," Hawke said, and they jogged out of the warehouse. Amidst the bodies of the qunari, lay Wall-Eyed Sam, twitching as he bled out.

Hawke was on him, clutching his shirt, "Where's the fucking book?" Sam's head flopped back, a crumpled parchment falling out of his mouth.

"He's dead," Anders said, the light on his hands dissipating as Hawke stood up and unfurled the paper.

"Shit," Hawke spat, trembling and coiling her hand into a fist. She threw the parchment at Aveline and stalked towards the edge of the water. Spinning, she punted one of the stray qunari helmets lying around them, narrowly avoiding the head of its owner. It splooshed into the water below. "Fuck!"

"That bitch-born whore," Aveline snapped, her cheeks flushing. "She - she never cared about any of it. It was always just about her and a damned payday."

"I thought that was obvious," Anders said, earning a reproachful glance from both women. "Sorry. What do we do now?"

Hawke stood covered in blood, looking into the water and bouncing one of her legs. Eyes wide, her pulse was still racing from the combat, and her mind leapt between options. The arishok had been on edge the last time they'd spoke. It was obvious the citizens of Kirkwall walked a fine line, toeing the demands he never ceased blithering about. And now this - this. As if the chantry zealots weren't trouble enough.

"Hawke?" Anders took a step towards her.

"We meet with Fenris and Varric as planned. I.. I need to think. Maker's fucking balls, Isabela." Hawke put her hands on her hips, closing her eyes and hanging her head. "We do not need to see the arishok till dawn. Or later." More airily she said, "Or never? Please?"

"Thank you for your help," Aveline said, handing the scrawled note back to Hawke. "It means a lot."

Hawke avoided her gaze as she took her shoulder and they turned, "It might help a little if we pray and hope someone's god hears us."

* * *

"Tell me, Hawke," the Arishok said from his position on the stairs. "What would you do in my place?"

"You don't want to be here anyway," Hawke chuckled, glancing amidst the qunari that were pressing close. "I will track down the thief and your relic, this I swear."

"Were it only so simple," The Arishok shook his head, fingers tensing on the battleaxe he laid across his shoulder. "I can no longer turn a blind eye to the greed and festering waste that crawl through the streets of this city. To your zealots that slaughter their own for petty gains, and the corruption that weakens you all. I can no longer ignore the demands of the Qun." Turning back amidst the karasten on the steps, he commanded, "Vinek kathas!"

There was a whizz before the guard standing next to Hawke glurked and blindly clutched the spear square in his chest. Another hit the ground beside them as Aveline raised her shield and backed against her friend. The other guard with them took two spears and crumpled to the ground as a pair of qunari launched at them.

Punching her attacker in the arm, Hawke twisted to nearly break her hand on his face, before grabbing a horn as he floundered and smashing his face down into her armoured knee.

"Hawke!" Aveline yelled, snatching her arm to haul her away. "Not here!"

With a last fleeting look at the Arishok as he barked orders in a foreign tongue, Hawke bolted with Aveline back towards the gates. Snatching a flask from her belt, she whipped it at the qunari waiting there, and it burst into a combustive cloud down his chest. The chemicals ate at his skin, and he screamed as Hawke buried her daggers into his stomach, flames licking around them. Another spear smacked across her shoulder, spiked into her victim's chest.

Behind her, Aveline swept her shield through another karasten who challenged her, yelling her fury as she raked her sword across his hip. The qunari snarled and their blades clashed before Hawke flashed by her friend's side, another sharp point fraying his defences.

"We can't hold this," Aveline panted, finally whipping her sword to half-sever the guard's neck. She stumbled back towards the wooden gate with Hawke.

"Really? You could have fooled me," Hawke said in a breath, dropping to her knees to avoid the swing of an axe, cutting the Achilles of the last qunari in their way. Standing up, she grunted and kicked the man back as he spurted blood.

Aveline tucked her shield down and charged through the gate, breaking the rudimentary latch. They tumbled out down the stairs, Hawke taking them three at a time to where the rest of Aveline's retinue clashed with another clutch of qunari. With the extra hands, it still took another death before they had laid the foreign invaders to waste.

Hawke knelt on the chest of a karasten, pulling her blade out from the man's jaw, and his head lolled uselessly to the ground.

"Aveline," Donnic rose from his knee, catching the guard-captain as she reeled. "Thank the Maker."

"Guardsman," her eyes softened in the brief moment their eyes met. Aveline tore away as she looked back up the stairs. "On your feet!"  
As the guards scrambled up, Hawke fingered another flask from her belt, hurling it up the stairs to the qunari compound and coating them in a slick of grease. Clutching the scruff of an injured guard, she hauled him up and scurried after Aveline.

"Wha-what's happening," the man gasped, limping with a hop to keep up as Donnic shoulder him.

"The Arishok may have just worn out his welcome," Hawke said as they made it up the stairs and darted into one of the hexes. There were men and women looking down on them from the homes. "Get inside and bar the windows and doors. Don't let anyone in!" When they hesitated, she lifted her bloodied blades and shouted, "Does this look like fucking raspberry jam to you?"

"Hawke!" Aveline snapped, lifting her head from where she helped the injured soldier. "The qunari have revolted. Barricade yourselves in for safety and pray for us all." She let her attention drift back down, "Hold still, Dixon."

"Thank ye, captain," he said, eyes rolling back in pain as she ripped open his armour and pressed a poultice into the wound.

Hawke stalked back towards the entrance of the alleyway, eyes on the skyline there was a massive explosion. The ground shook, and the guards nearly tumbled as she stood her ground.

"Maker preserve us," Donnic said, on his feet again with his sword at the ready.

"The gaatlok," Hawke murmured, stumbling as another explosion from elsewhere in the city shook the ground. There were screams and the sound of splintering wood in the distance, crashing and blades. Her eyes glazed over a moment as she listened.

"Drink this," Aveline said as she cracked a potion for the guard, helping him drink it back before she assessed her other men. Smoke poured into the sky.

Where was the biting cold and the sleeting snow? It was late day and the sky was bright - but there, another flash. The coming storm, it was only time before she would see the blighted sky. She could smell the burning flesh and hear men screaming - it was hopeless, no matter how bright the sky. They were coming. Carver's blade whipped before her eyes, sweeping the darkspawn back from their defended circle. His limbs were gaunt and his step lighter than she remembered. She was choking on her panic.

"Hawke," Fenris said, looking back into the street from whence he'd come. "They're here!"

Chin falling down as Anders took her arms, Hawke blinked.

"Thank the Maker you're safe," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I feared the worst. People are pouring into Darktown."

"Come on, Blondie," Varric smirked, and tugged him away. "You'll smother the woman. And she might come in handy."

"Are you alright?" he asked, before doing a double take and going to Aveline. There was a blossom of light as he healed the injured guard.

"They were none too pleased to hear about the tome," Hawke finally said. "I might kill Isabela if I see her again." Fenris lingered at the edge of the court, his eyes flashing to her. "This is because of her."

"Shit," Varric sighed.

"They've been planning this," Aveline said, taking her shield in arm again. "This - this is too quick. They were ready when we went to speak with them." She turned around, "Men! On your feet! Kirkwall and her people need us."

"Lovely, Hawke said to her. "I - I don't know what they expect to accomplish with this."

"Make for your house, its walls are strong. You can barricade there." Aveline turned and whistled, "Follow me."

As Aveline followed the guards back into the street proper, Anders said, "We'll be safe there."

"Not bloody likely," Hawke muttered. "They will go for the viscount."

"Course they will," Varric said offhanded. "It's what I'd do."

"No doubt they meant to capture you," Fenris evenly said. "He deemed you basalit-an. You are their only threat."

Her dark eyes hardened, Hawke looked back into the street, "Then I best live up to that threat."

* * *

Kicking the karasten down the stairs, Hawke darted back to help Fenris reinforce the gates of the Alienage. They hoisted the last block in place, the elves on the other side backing away.

"Damned shem," one of them spat at her.

"Yes, damned me, saving your fucking life," she cursed and pushed away. She staggered back to where Anders knelt, healing a guard. "How are you doing?"

The man he was tending sucked in a breath and stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and Anders slumped back. He closed his luminous eyes and said, "Been better."

"Hawke, now's not the time for whispering sweet nothings to Blondie!" Varric called out, holding Bianca in his hip with one hand. "There's a massive fight outside of Gamlen's place."

"Shit," she said, taking to Fenris' side as they ran down the alley, Anders downing a vial of lyrium on their heels. There was a flash of light, and the qunari warring in the square staggered, half frozen and clawing at their heads in a horrific frenzy. A man in resplendent full plate barrelled a path through them, bearing a griffon shield on his arm. When the sten turned on him, a crushing cage of energy ensnared and snapped his limbs, trapping him as the glyph flared at his feet.

"Another mage," Fenris hissed as they approached.

"Watch your mouth," Anders snapped, stumbling as he stared. "That's the Hero of Ferelden you're talking about."

"Huh," Hawke said, before launching into the fray. She took a set of stairs to tackle a saarebas as the manacles on his wrists glowed, stabbing him as they grappled on the ground. The qunari snarled and hurled her off the ledge, and she skidding down the wall to break her fall, huffing into a roll. Regaining her balance, another karasten swiped her with the pommel of his sword, before nearly impaling her.

When Hawke cried out, a phantom responded, shimmering ephemeral gold and surrounded by an orb of reality warping auras. A lightning enrobed blade cleanly decapitated the qunari, and Hawke collapsed down.

"Don't move," came a soft voice, and Hawke struggled to keep her eyes open as the battle blurred. There was a wash of healing mana through her, and she stirred, looking up into a ghost. "Drink this."

Hawke snatched the potion and drank it as her vision doubled, lying back in her own blood as the elixir coursed through her. She lay panting afterward, before saying, "Thank you, I almost thought I'd seen a..."

"A ghost," Anders said as he approached, the qunari scattered and dead around them. "There's only one person I know who can do that."

The Fade-shimmering mage turned about, her concentration fading as she solidified, "Is... Anders - Anders is that really you?"

"In part," he said, glancing back to where the other Warden was helping Fenris up. "What are you and Alistair doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Neria said, pushing back the bower on her helm. Ice blue elven eyes looked up at him as she frowned, "What is wrong with you?"

Anders took Hawke's hand to help her up, and the rogue wiped her daggers on her thigh as he said, "A lot."

"Might have something to do with the qunari," Hawke said with a false smile. "Lucky we saved you."

"Saved us?" Neria lightly, glancing back to Alistair. A black mabari trotted up to her side, and she lay her hand on its head. "I think we can handle ourselves." She frowned again and looked back at him, "You abandoned Amaranthine. Why? Why Anders?"

"Me?" he answered, putting himself before Hawke as his brow knit. "You and yours ran off long before I did. You went to play house and be free, leaving me trapped at the Vigil with that templar."

Neria drew back, and was about to open her lips.

"As much as I would love to hear all the little bits of who abandoned who," Hawke said, drawing a deep breath. "There might just be an invading army bearing down on the city we call home."

"She's right," Alistair said, his hand on Neria's back.

"You feel wrong, Anders," Neria said, dropping her bower. "But thank you for... saving us, either way."

"Come with us," Hawke said as they turned away. "I may be grand, but I'm not sure I can take them all."

Neria issued a command to heel the mabari, stopping as she summoned her auras again, "We have other duties that have precedence. There is more at work than you know."

"Are - are the children alright?" Anders stammered.

The Hero's head dropped down, and Alistair secured his shield as he said, "They are somewhere safe. In Ferelden."

"I'm sorry," Neria said, hefting the Spellweaver once more as her voice wavered. "Maker watch over you."

Anders stood amidst the dead, watching them march away, scarce moving as Bianca wound and snapped, sending a flurry of bolts upon an advancing group of qunari.

"Come on," Hawke hissed, shaking his shoulder. "Time for that later."


	30. 1000 Tiny Cuts

"Arishokost! Qun-anaam ebra-toh!" Fenris interjected, drawing both Hawke and the Arishok's gaze. "You have granted this woman basalit-an. By this admission, she now has the right to challenge you."

"If you truly knew the Qun, elf, you would not suggest I battle a female."

"But she is no female," Fenris countered, and Hawke looked at him. He was unfazed. "She is a respected outsider, by your own words."

Huffing quietly, the Arishok looked at her, "What say you, Hawke? Do you agree to a duel?"

Inside she swore, but on her lips, Hawke said, "And if I win, what then?"

"I will be dead and released from my duty. The rest of the qunari will be free to return to Par Vollen."

"And if you win?"

"You will be dead," the Arishok replied.

"Touché," she said under her breath. Keeping his gaze, Hawke responded before she could let herself think. She drew her blades, and said, "Alright. Let's dance."

"Meravas," the Arishok intoned, stalking towards her. "So shall it be!"

Hawke adjusted the dagger in her hand as she backpedalled from the steps. The nobles had cleared from the viscount's throne room, pressed to observe from the wings.

"Bring Fenris, she thought," Hawke muttered to herself. Her blood was singing with fright. "He knows their language, maybe he can help! Idiot."

"If anyone can do this, Hawke," Varric shouted, as they cringed back against the wall. Karashok flanked them, standing resolute as the Arishok huffed and cracked his shoulders.

"And if I can't, we're all fucked," she said under her breath. Pulse in her ears, Hawke swayed on the balls of her feet and rolled sideways as the Arishok's battleaxe swept by. It clinked on the stone, and his sword followed her instead. When she darted around one of the pillars that upheld the room, he growled and followed.

She was a young woman again, darting amidst the templar blades that bore down on her sister. Her father lay choking on his own blood, Bethany on her knees beside him and cowering to the ground. There was the chink of steel again, and Hawke darted to slash the underside of the Arishok's arm, drawing a rivulet of blood.

A thousand tiny cuts.

Unswayed, the qunari general turned on her, blades swishing the air as Hawke evaded again, bounding backward on agile toes. In a moment, a flask shattered in his face, and he devolved into a fit of coughing. She was there in an instant, riveting her knee into his kidneys. He scarce grunted as she regained her balance, her blade catching under a strap and cutting his pauldron free.

The Arishok snarled, his fist snapping the blunt pommel across Hawke's face and drawing blood. Reeling back, she skidded and flipped out of the way as he coughed again, the putrid gas from her flask dissipating. Hawke wiped the blood from her eyes, throwing herself out of the way as he charged, his axe glancing off another pillar.

"Basra," he hissed, muscles tensing as he swung again, the blades narrowly deflected by Hawke in a series of cuts. It redirected his energy, weakening her arms, but she got another cut across the washboard of his abdomen. Dropping to roll out of the way, she stabbed into his thigh, scarce slowing him.

As Hawke scrambled to her feet, the Arishok clipped her from behind, cross-checking her with the handle of his axe. She slipped on her knees, and there were gasps from the nobles, but she closed her eyes and rolled as he swung to finish her. Soon enough, she swirled on her knees to slash down the backs of his legs, curved blade slicing off parts of his armour.

Hawke breathed hard through her nose as she was on her feet again, wiping the sweat and blood from her eyes as they circled. Their weapons clanged, and she ducked under his arm, stabbing his side only to receive a wound of her own, and she stumbled away to fumble with the elfroot potion on her hip. The Arishok's eyes followed as he drank a concoction of his own.

Holding it in her mouth, Hawke threw the flask at him, and he knocked it away as she snagged another. The second shattered on the ground and erupted into flames, disorientating the warrior only briefly, but she used it. Holding her breath in the flames, her short blades lanced down his arms, and the qunari raged. His axe battered her, and she floundered back, gulping the curative as her vision blurred.

In her mind, Bethany was screaming as the templar bore down, and Hawke stumbled from the smite that left them both weakened. She could feel the spike of pain as the sword pierced her, and she cried out now as she did then. Kicking for her life, a more desperate scream echoed off the stone as she hacked at the Arishok's arm.

"Do not even think to intervene," Fenris hissed from where he stood, and Varric held Anders back.

"I can't just let him kill her," he hissed, and the qunari near them turned his cold eyes their way.

"Have faith," Varric tried to say, smiling thinly. "She's gotten out of worse scrapes. Not any that I can think of right now, but."

The Arishok ripped his sword out, and Hawke forced herself up, gupping and choking on the blood as she clutched her chest. It was all she could do to flounder behind one of the pillars as his axe followed through, struggling to stay conscious. She huffed and whipped one of her daggers, burying it in the thick muscle of the Arishok's thigh, and he snarled and tugged it out.

Hawke's blurry eyes passed over her friends and the qunari that looked on, stumbling to pick up her stray sword again, a spatter of blood trailing behind her. There was the clank of his axe on stone again as she narrowly missed her death. She finally fumbled a potion out on bloodied hands, nearly dropping it as she drank it – only to be barrelled over as the Arishok caught her again.

They grappled against the wall, and Hawke spat a bloody spray in his face as he overpowered and pinned her. He grunted as she kneed him in the stomach repeatedly, splitting the gash there wider. She hit him again, floundering to stay close and keep his swords away. Hawke stabbed home, her dagger under one of his ribs as she choked on blood again, twisting with a crack – the Arishok snarled in reply and threw her away.

Hawke skidded as she gained her footing, ducking out of the way as his sword and axe met in the air above her. The Arishok clamoured down, pinning her leg, and she screamed through clenched teeth and hurled herself behind him, the sharp edges of her daggers slicing skin as she moved. With a quick riposte, he caught her left arm, and her dagger dropped as blood spurted, the tendons nearly severed. She panted and dragged away, a strain and fear in her breath.

"Anaan esam Qun," the Arishok evenly said, patient even as he bled and stalked closer. Hawke fled his attack, dodging still. "You are basalit-an. But it will not change what is demanded."

There was blood on Hawke's lips as she rasped, "Nor will it save you."

When the Arishok advanced, Hawke launched herself in a desperate save, burying her daggers to the hilt up into his chest. There was a blank surprise in his eyes as she stabbed again, leaning her weight in, screaming and tearing through his flesh. When she cried out and threw her shoulder into him, the qunari staggered back and collapsed upon the steps.

The weapons in his hands fell loose as the Arishok looked up to her, voice failing, "We will return."

Hawke struggled to breath as she took her dagger in both hands and fell on his body, stabbing him once more in the chest before slitting his throat. The muscular body beneath her went limp, leaving stunned silence and the rasp of her wet breaths. As she stood, the blood rushed to her head, and she wavered – but Anders and Varric were there.

"He might be dead," she whispered on bloody lips, eyes dilated and blank.

The doors burst open as Hawke nearly collapsed again, noticeably shaking as Meredith and Orsino rushed in, weapons at the ready. No face seemed as surprised as Bethany's

"It's over," Hawke said as they gawked, and her sister rushed forward as she collapsed.

Orisno followed as Meredith grimaced, "She's badly injured."

"As are many," Meredith coldly replied, looking between the qunari in the room.

"Your arishok is slain, his bound purpose unravelled," Fenris stated, the nobles in the wings still immobile in shock. "You have no reason to remain. Leave now, or die by the Qun." When Meredith made to protest, he turned to her, "They will leave without hesitation."

"They shall be slain for their treasonous actions," Meredith growled, her sword at the ready.

"Enough have already perished," called a noble from the wings. "Just get rid of them." The sentiment was echoed by more of the traumatized lords and ladies.

Meredith's lips pressed in a hard line, before she ordered, "Escort them from the city." She lingered till the last moved, following them and her templars out of the keep.

On the ground, Hawke shuddered as Orsino's magic pulled bits of her back together.

"Thank the Maker," Bethany whispered, tears in her eyes as she cradled Hawke's head in her lap.

"It's alright, dear sister," Hawke's eyes fluttered as she tried to focus. She touched Bethany's hand, half-delirious. "The templars are gone. I'll protect you."


	31. Varric's Version: Malcolm Hawke

**Varric's Version: Malcolm Hawke**

* * *

Most assume the Champion's conflict with the templars began in Kirkwall, blossoming along with her love for the renegade mage. They neglect the fact that her own sister was locked in the Gallows – and before that, her father. Raised by an apostate in the bannorn of Ferelden, magic and those who follow it were never a stranger to Hawke.

Though I won't take sides, it can't be ignored that the life of a mage on the run is not an easy one. People are frightened by magic, in many cases rightly so – an apostate can be exposed to the Chantry and her agents at any turn. At any point, a slip-up, or late paid bribe might reveal them and turn over the life they have built. Highever, West Hills, Rainsfere, and finally Lothering – the Champion had been through them all as her father fled the roaming eyes of the templars. But it was bound to catch up with them.

Our Champion had just barely come into her own as a young woman, travelling the edge of the Wilds with her father and sister, serving as watchman while they practised their arts in the relative safety of obscurity. Malcolm Hawke had once been a Circle mage, but had escaped Kirkwall, fleeing to Ferelden with his bride. He knew what a young mage needed, and took what precious opportunities he could to train Hawke's sister and prepare her for life as an apostate.

Unbeknownst to them, a troop of templars tracked a maleficar in the Hinterlands, and saw the unnatural light in the distance. The afternoon was waning as Hawke patrolled the camp, scarce heeding the instructions her father gave her sister. She wandered as young women do, and realized her error when she heard her father's voice raised in alarm.

When Hawke turned around, she saw the trio of templars advancing upon them – the exchange was heated, and the Chantry soldiers demanded the apostate's surrender. Hawke's father shielded his daughter, hands already upon his staff.

"On the ground and you will not be harmed," the lead man commanded, sword drawn.

"Says the armed templar," her father replied, as Hawke ran to them. "Or are they just for show?"

"You there! On your knees!" Another templar called, and it was the distraction needed.

The power of the Fade rousing at his fingertips, Malcolm Hawke summoned a tempest of lightning and ice, the air howling around them and knocking the templars down. He gathered up his daughter, catching Hawke by the scruff to pull her too. As they ran, an arrow pierced the storm and caught him here, in the breast, and he crumpled between them.

Hawke's sister screamed as her father clutched his breast, the arrow showing where it broke his heart, and they both fell to the ground.

"Run," he pleaded as she knelt with him. "Run, my vixens."

"No," Hawke said as she drew her blades, "I will not leave you."

Thankfully, only one templar emerged from the magical storm, his armour smoking and the scent of burnt flesh in the air. Still green behind the ears, she recklessly launched at the templar as her sister tried to tend their fallen father. Hawke screamed and barrelled into the disorientated man, her dagger catching under his plate as they floundered back. She took a hit, and the templar smashed her brow with the pommel of his sword.

Hawke floundered, but the anger in her heart - the anger only a young woman can know - flared bright, and she evaded the next swing. Her sister's weeping was in her ears, and she stumbled as the templar smote them. Badly wounded, she ran into the templar, knocking him to the ground and slitting his throat.

Gathering her sister like she'd skinned her knee, Hawke took the amulet from around her father's neck.

"Set him on fire," Hawke said, shouldering the younger girl as she protested. "Send him to the grace of the Maker, for we cannot bring him home."

They barely escaped through the Wilds, and it took them days to reach Lothering again. They'd avoided the templar's roving gaze - but at a great cost.


	32. In the Wake

Orsino bristled as he stood by the door, letting Bethany take his hands to calm him. They watched Anders pull at the ether and revive Hawke once more. They were in guest chambers at the viscount's keep, awaiting a litter to carry Kirkwall's new Champion home.

"You've got to keep your eyes open," he whispered, the light in his eyes fading as he touched Hawke's cheek.

"I'd rather not," Hawke murmured, her head rolling sideways. One of her eyes had gone red from burst vessels. "Sleep now, talk later."

"Come on," he whispered, holding her head to force a vial to her lips. "Drink."

"Please yes," she croaked, "A drink." She gulped the elixir, choking on its bitterness, "That's terrible…"

Orsino pulled away and lifted his hands, murmuring the needed words that roused a brilliant blue glyph about them, and Hawke rolled her head again, trying to pull away from the glass. Anders forced it down anyway, holding a hand over her mouth. The castle trembled, and the mages glanced about.

"What's happening," she choked, trying to move. Hawke keened and grit her teeth as a wound opened, eyes glazing as she went limp, her words in a quiet pant, "Fuck… fuck."

"I don't know," Anders replied, pulling away the last of her armour. "Just try not to move."

Orsino stepped back in the room, "They're rioting in the streets. It was foolish to think they'd let the qunari simply walk away."

"Please take care of her," Bethany said from the edge of the bed.

"I promise," Anders said, looking up to her with shadowed eyes. "I won't lose her."

Bethany slipped a vial of lyrium from her wrist and pressed it into his hand, leaning and kissing his brow before following Orsino out through the Keep.

"Bethany," Hawke croaked, her dilated eyes turning as her head rolled towards the door. "Don't… no, father."

"The First Enchanter will look out for her," Anders said before drinking the vial. He paused, licking the thick, glowing fluid from his lips before standing again. "Be still, my love."

There were tears in Hawkes delirious eyes as she lay on the bed watching the door, and she trembled as Anders wove the light of the Fade to piece her together. She exhaled a shuddered sigh as some of the rending pain abated, and she focused on him. Her eyes softened. "Anders."

"You've lost a lot of blood. And you almost lost your arm," he said, his voice straining as he took her hand. "We'll lock up in your house as soon as there's a lull in the fighting."

Hawke absently touched the sewn gash up her mid-section, "How did you save me? Where is everyone?"

"In the streets," he said, ripping a length of cloth. Holding the poultice to her arm, he bandaged it neatly. "And… Orsino helped. Meredith was there… I… she knows. I know she does."

Hawke whimpered as he moved her, a tear rolling down her cheek as she whimpered, "I can't… I can't anymore."

"I need to set your nose," he whispered hoarsely, brushing the hair from her face.

"Doesn't it suit me?" Hawke murmured in a lucid moment, her head resting against his hand. Her words fell low, a mash of gibberish together as her eyes fell closed again.

Hand frosted in cold, Anders put it to her cheek, "Open those eyes." When he was met with the blood-red gaze, he said, "Tell me about your father. I want to know all about him."

"I miss him," she whispered, and he wet a cloth to wipe the blood from her face as her eyes glistened again. "I miss them all so much."

"I know," he replied, moving her head so he could align her broken nose. Hawke cried out, cursing as he healed the break. "Your sister always said I reminded her of him – I should get to know him."

* * *

There was soft singing, and the dance of firelight was muted against her closed eyes. Hawke roused and turned her head to the sound. Orana was picking up the tray of food and noticed her movement.

"Mistress, it is good to see you awake," she said, waiting for her to sit up before setting it in her lap.

"You were singing," Hawke murmured, her throat rough. She took the offered water and drank it. "Where did you learn that?"

The young elf dropped her chin and took a step back, "Your mama used to sing it - I, I'm sorry!"

"No," Hawke's eyes softened as she said. "It was beautiful. It reminds me of her. Thank you." When Orana relaxed a little, she asked, "Where is everyone?"

"Master Anders has been in the streets with First Enchanter Orsino and Miss Bethany," she replied, knotting her hands together. "His grace has not left the door, so much is happening in the street."

"He's a good old dog," Hawke quietly said, laying her head back. She tested the movement of her arm and cringed, her shallow breath coupled with pain. There was only so much magic would do for it - time would do the rest.

"He protected us when the qunari came," Orana said, taking a chair by the fire as Hawke ate. "And Sandal."

"Yes, no doubt," Hawke said with a half-full mouth. The elf drifted away as she ate, and she shifted to get up, moving with a groan. Half-naked, she tore at the bandages around her midsection, drawing a shuddered breath. There was barking in the manor proper as she tried to get it off.

"What are you doing!" Bethany said from the door, hurrying to stop her.

"It itches like a bloody spider's nest," she hissed, shaking her sister's hand away. Her fingers hovered over the soiled bandages, a line of fluids and blood staining them from under her breast down to almost her hip.

"That's a good thing," Anders said as he leant against the wall, dark circles under his eyes. "It's no use, she'll get it off. And then I'll just have to drug her and put it back on."

"Sister," Bethany chided, frowning.

"Did you escape from the Circle just to lecture me?" Hawke asked, looking down as she pulled more of the bandages away with little decency. "How sweet of you!"

"No," she sighed, looking down. "We've almost cleared the streets."

"With less people dying, magic becomes an inconvenience again," Anders frowned, crossing his arms. "Meredith has not been happy about Orisno leading our kin through the streets."

"But he did it anyway," Bethany said with a faint smile.

"What is with you and that man," Hawke murmured as she eased back onto the bed, weakening as air hit the stitched gash beneath her breast. She closed her eyes.

"Nothing," Bethany said with a blush.

"Then let us get you out of the city," Hawke said, looking to her. "We have safe places you could go."

"And what about my phylactery?" Bethany asked, colour still on her cheeks. "I have been helping him. We've made a lot of progress."

"Not enough," Anders said, and he closed his eyes and stalked to where his healing kit was laid out. There was a crackle of glow about him, his voice fractured. "They imprison you yet and crush you beneath their thumb."

"Not pleasant," Hawke murmured, paling as she laid back, "Bleeding again."

"You wouldn't be if you hadn't taken them off!" Bethany said, making a sound of frustration. Anders hung his head, fingers tightening on the edge of Hawke's desk as he reigned himself in. They gathered up more salves and bandages, surrounding her on the bed.

"I've been in bed for days," Hawke murmured, closing her eyes to the pain. "I want to go out and stab something."

"I'm surprised, you left your arm alone," Anders said as he fetched water from the fire to clean the stitching and weeping wounds.

"I can't reach it."

"Good," he murmured, directing Bethany.

"I miss you," Hawke said, putting her hand on her sister's thigh.

"I know," Bethany said, pausing to run her hand through her sister's long hair. "I miss you too."

"Is he good to you?" Hawke asked, twitching in pain as a salve hissed and sealed the laceration down her torso where the arishok had impaled her.

Bethany blushed again, she said, "Yes."

"Be careful," Anders said, a distance in his eyes. "If the templars know, they will make your live unbearable."

"He knows," she replied under her breath, averting her eyes to lift Hawke and let him rewrap her. "We are very careful."

"My dear sister," Hawke murmured as she clenched her teeth. "Will you write me sordid letters with the details?"

"No!"

Anders almost smiled.

"Damn," Hawke murmured, before almost yelping as they continued to tend her wounds.


	33. Pussy Footing

Left arm in a sling, Hawke stood despite her fatigue as the nobles around her argued. Books and parchment were scattered on the tables assembled in the hall, and they sat about them with drink and food. Dark circles under her eyes and hair cut short, she watched the quill of the young page she'd hired move in a flurry to take note of their words. Her eyes drifted to the high window her mother had once looked out.

"Please Serah Hawke, we must act before the city falls to pieces," the elderly man said. She forgot his name – he lived in the next district. He traded Antivan commodities.

"What do you propose we do?" she quietly said, tapping her thumb on the lip of her glass. Anders would be glaring if he saw her standing. "There are still bodies frozen in the streets, and the chantry is overwhelmed. Lowtown and the docks were heavily damaged from the explosions, and qunari still walk the streets. The mages only just finished extinguishing the fires in the warehouse district."

"There is word that the templars are marching," a younger man with auburn hair said.

The older man harrumphed and said, "The gangs have all but overrun the city, it is hardly safe. Between them and the qunari - hopefully Meredith will maintain order."

"I'll have you know, the city guard are doing just as much," Hawke snapped, prowling again. "But they are in dire need of supplies, a great deal was looted from the keep. Armour, weaponry, and healing. They have been working near non-stop to stem the chaos."

A low murmur went through those assembled. Hawke scoffed and turned away as they began arguing again. Orana was nearby, and came to refill her tea. She looked as she heard barking from the door, and none other than Aveline strode in. The nobles fell silent.

"I - I apologize, Hawke," Aveline said, straightening her posture. She was dirty, and there were creases on her face. "Though this no doubt concerns you all."

"Oh? Was there a run on Orlesian silk?" Hawke murmured, cringing as she moved. The young man smirked.

"Oh, if only it were so meaningless," Aveline chuckled darkly, producing the writ. "Knight-Commander Meredith has declared marshal law and barricaded the viscount's chambers. The templars fill the streets, and she's requested reinforcements from Starkhaven."

There were quiet murmurs through the room, and Hawke snatched the parchment from Aveline.

"A curfew," Hawke sneered. "What does she think we are, children?"

"Apparently," Aveline said, exhaling sharply. She shook her head. "I have heard much worse."

"She - she's taking over the city," the young man said, standing to take Hawke's side. "On what authority?"

"The Dumar bloodline is dead," a matriarch at the far end of the table said. "Who is there to stop her?"

"It is best you all return to your respective homes," Aveline said in her captain's voice. "The day is waning, and I am not certain to what extremes the Commander will go."

In short time, Orana had helped the nobles don their winter coats and go, gathering the glasses and plates to disappear into the servant's quarters. Hawke tossed the writ on the table, cringing again and cradling her arm.

"What are you even doing up and about?" Aveline said with a sigh, helping her down into a chair.

"Well you know how it goes," Hawke looked up to her. "Take a break and the world might end without you."

Aveline scoffed, "I doubt that."

"Then you'll get some rest tonight? Didn't think so."

Aveline sunk into one of the chairs beside her, taking the ewer of ale and drinking straight from it. Closing her eyes, she sighed heavily, wiping her mouth, "That pompous edict isn't the half of it. Maker, I wish it were." Hawke raised her brow. "They've been rounding up apostates who helped fight the qunari - who saved the city from burning. Half a dozen have already been taken to the Gallows."

"Fuck," Hawke said, pulling up to go for the chest by the fire.

"Hawke, what do you think you're doing?"

"Someone has to look out for Anders."

"I can't look out for myself?" he said from the doorway, nudged out of the way as her mabari pushed past him.

Hawke's expression softened, and she dropped her free hand to pet the hound, "If I'd known I could just say fetch, I would have asked you to long ago, your grace."

Aveline was on her feet by Anders as she said, "Maybe she'll listen to you." The guard-captain hesitated, before glancing down, "Thank you for your help with the men."

"It's what I do," Anders said, before turning his eyes.

Hawke was standing by the fire, trying to look innocent. She put the satchel of flasks back in the chest as she said, "I didn't leave the house?"

"Hmm," he said, walking close. "Time for a check up."

"No," Hawke sighed, scraping her cheek along the stubble on his chin. When he tried to pull away, she caught him with her good arm. "Fine, but only if you kiss me."

* * *

There was a soft wuff and a paw on the door, and Anders sighed, "No, you know I don't like you in here when I'm working."

His grace whimpered a bit more, and there was silence before the scratch of his claws dragged down the library door.

"You're going to scratch it, and I'll tell Marian it was you," Anders said, turning the page of the book he read. Dabbing his quill in the lyrium ink, he made a quick annotation in his journal. There was a soft wuff. "She won't think it's me, you know."

Anders tried to continue working, and there was more whimpering, pawing and scratching, followed by another plaintiff woof. He put down his quill with a sigh and got up, "You don't even like me. I'm not going to play with you." He opened the door and returned to the desk without a thought.

Though he sat writing for a minute or two, Anders could see the mabari in his periphery, blocking some of the light from the fire. He was far too quiet and still. The quill scratched the parchment a minute more, when there was a muffled wuff.

"What, your grace?" Anders sighed, rubbing his forehead as he looked down at the hound.

The mabari was looking up at him, a small tabby dangling from his mouth by the scruff of its neck. When he realized Anders was looking, he walked forward and put the cat in his lap.

Sitting with his jaw hanging half open, Anders finally said, "Where - a cat?"

The mabari huffed slightly and seemed to roll his eyes, as though the answer were obvious. The cat shook to unruffled its fur, before turning to walk onto the desk. Anders stopped it right before it went across the wet ink, and it mewed as he picked it up.

"Did Marian put you up to this?" Anders said, peering down at the dog as he cradled the cat to his chest. It purred and nuzzled into the feathers on his shoulder, readily swatting and chewing them. He almost laughed as the dog huffed again and shook his head, sitting down. "What, you expect me to believe you found it?"

Tongue lolling out, the mabari barked and stood back up, wagging its stub of a tail.

Anders scratched over the cat's back, warily watching the dog as he almost laughed, "You got me a cat."

The hound barked again a few times, leaning forward to nudge Anders knee, and the mage ruffled and rubbed his ears in reply.

"Alright, alright, but no drooling." Anders laughed, patting both animals now. The hound turned his eyes up. "Don't push your luck."

"What is all the racket," Hawke called from the main hall, and she appeared in the door. "Are you torturing his grace again?" She kneeled down as the mabari ran over, hugging it and rough housing with him a bit, "I'll save you from the mean abomination." She stood up as the mabari pranced back towards Anders, barking happily, "And what's this?"

"A cat," Anders said under his breath, catching it as it went for his papers again. "I think your dog got it for me." The mabari barked, sitting at his feet and looking to Hawke for approval.

"Did you now? Are you going to look after it?" Hawke put her hands on her hips, looking down at the dog. The mabari grumbled dubiously, leaning back into Anders' legs. She smirked and looked at him. "Will you?"

"Of course I will," he said, cringing a smile as the cat kneaded him with its claws. He rubbed and plied the tabby's neck, eliciting a purr.

"I'll hold you to that," Hawke replied, before clicking and patting her thigh. "Come on, your grace. Let's leave the two lovebirds." She paused in the doorway and looked back, "And so help me, if I find fur on my pillow."

As she left with the mabari in tow, Anders murmured, "How come I never got to say that?"


	34. Devotion

Hawke ran her fingers over the scarring where her arm had nearly been severed, walking up behind Anders in just her smalls, "Looking pretty badass, if I don't say so myself."

"Mm," he replied, dipping his quill again as he wrote by candlelight.

"I should get a tattoo," she said, prodding the skin still to test it. "Can you do that?"

"Me? No," he said, half-listening as he finished the letter and set it to dry, before taking up another piece of parchment.

"I didn't mean it like that," Hawke murmured, putting her hands on her hips. She turned back with a sound of frustration. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Mmm," Anders murmured, writing still.

Absently squeezing both her breasts, Hawke looked at him and let a breath out, her lips humming in the process. She watched him working before she said, "So I never asked about that elven Warden. You asked her about the children." She put a knee on the bed, "Did you leave more behind in Ferelden than you've let on?"

"I - what?" Anders laid down his quill and turned in the chair.

"I didn't really think so," Hawke smirked, flopping onto the bed. "But it did get your attention."

Anders chuckled once, looking at his work before saying, "She's the one that made me a Warden."

"I know," Hawke said, rolling to look at him, dangling a leg off the bed. "It's alright, you know. If you were intimate, I mean. Maker knows you can't change the past."

"I wasn't," Ander's expression lightened more, and he shook his head. "The other warden is her husband. I knew their children, and I… helped her have a child."

Hawke's expression softened and she grinned, "As is your wont to do." As his eyes roamed over her, she toyed with her breasts again, "Certain you aren't tired?"  
Smirking, Anders got up and said, "Well, not now."

"Pity that," Hawke pouted, and sat up, kneeling on the bed as he came close. Snagging his waist, she embraced him and leant up into the kiss he offered. Anders leant forward and pressed her into the bed, readily kissing deeper as she arched into his body. Breathing in against his lips, she murmured, "I've missed this."

Fumbling with his clothes as they kissed, Hawke threw them off the bed, taking particular delight in scattering them as his hands and mouth trailed over her skin. When she tried to gain the upper hand and flip him, Anders merely shook his head, pinning her with the weight of his body.

"Where do you think you're going?" he breathed, lips and nose in her neck as he nibbled and sucked.

"Going up," Hawke countered, testing her weight again. He caught her thigh, smiling into her skin as she half-wrestled him. "Always going up."

"And me?" Anders replied, softly laughing in her neck. Ink on his fingers smeared on her skin as he ground their hips together, a tease through their smalls. "Does that mean I'm going down."

"You don't usually complain about that," Hawke replied, earning a smack on her backside, and she yelped. The sound fell into a laugh as he snagged her wrist and flipped her on the bed, face down into the pillows. Her voice was muffled, "I – I meant Darktown, love. You're always going down to your clinic, of course."

Anders shook his head, letting go of her hand and crawling back on the bed as he took off her smalls. Hawke lay her hips against the bed, pillowing her head in her arms to try and look as he kissed up her legs. She snapped her lips shut at the ticklish touch, closing her eyes as he dragged tongue and lip over her skin.

"I'll give you another chance to escape," Anders said. His voice took a more sombre tone, "It's always there."

"Never," Hawke said, clutching the pillow over her mouth to stifle her laughter, before pulling it away. "No, I never want to escape you! Do your worst." She laughed again when he smacked her thighs, shaking her head, "I love you."

"Something seems wrong with that," Anders murmured, lips back against her skin. He bit her ass, and she was laughing again. "You're incorrigible."

"I know," Hawke put her face in the pillow again, before rising onto her knees under his hands. When his lips kissed her nether lips, she sighed, "Maker, I know."

Anders dragged his fingers over her hip, supping a few more licks before he shifted and guided himself in. Hawke tangled her fingers in the pillow, her soft moan heated into it as she pressed herself into his hips. She could hear the way his breath caught, the momentary hesitation at the delightful rush of pleasure in the satisfaction of their union.

Hawke's hand crept up the headboard, and she hung her head down as they flowed into each other, the soft smack of skin coupled with their heated breaths. His fingers were over her body, digging in with need just like his loins, leaving impressions on her skin as he caressed her abdomen and breasts. It pressed their bodies together, and she braced herself as he ground and thrust. Losing herself in the rhythm, her hand dipped between her thighs, panting as he gripped her shoulder from the front and filled her.

When they lay spent and sprawled on the tangled covers, Hawke watched him with veiled eyes. There was a flush on his cheeks and a peace to his features that was becoming more and more rare. It was an expression that was hers, something she gave him, and she rolled into him, possessive of the intimacy. He sighed a half smile as their bodies tangled together, comfortable and naked.

"Sometimes I think I could stay with you like this forever," he quietly murmured.

"By all means then," she replied, running her fingers through his hair as she nuzzled into the crook of his arm. He wrapped the other around her, hugging her close. "Keep this up, and we'll have little boys and bratty girls keeping us from laying about naked as we wish."

"You don't mean that," he chuckled, opening his eyes. Hers were still closed.

"Alright, if you think it'd be best for them," Hawke murmured against his skin, "No clothing allowed within the house. Orana and Bodahn might object."

Anders chuckled and turned to kiss her hair, breathing her in, "Not Sandal?"

"I'm not sure he'd notice or care," Hawke replied, sitting up to lean over him. "And of course I mean it."

Anders shook his head a little, cupping her cheek and sighing out, "Sometimes I don't know what to think. You are more than I ever could have dreamed."

"Truth is better than fiction, they say," Hawke replied, her eyes half-lidded with fatigue. She looked at his chest, drawing her fingers through the scant hair there, "I wanted to give you something."

"I'm not sure there's more you could give me than you do," Anders replied, kissing her shoulder and arm. "You never have to give me anything, love."

Hawke smirked slightly, "There's always more." She rolled away from him and retrieved something from her wardrobe, his eyes following her. She concealed it in her hand as she sat beside him, and Anders drew her close.

"It's silly," she said, her eyes down as she unfurled the chain that held the locket. "It was my mother's. And before that, it was my father's. And I want you to have it."

Anders sat up to take the hand that held the locket, "Marian, I..."

"Look, I know that Tevinter Chantry amulet will probably get you killed," she laughed a little, looking down as he let go of her hand. "I didn't think about it before I gave it to you. This one, I at least put some thought into."

"It means a lot to you," he quietly said.

"So do you," she replied, looking into his eyes before leaning and clipping it around his neck. "You're more important to me than any of it. The house, gold - even Varric." She laughed a little, looking away again, "You've seen me through everything. I don't really see me going anywhere any time soon... does it seem so odd I'd think about children? Alright, maybe it doe- "

Anders took her hand and pulled her down into his lips without a word. It was selfish, but he drove the thoughts away. He didn't speak of the taint in his blood. He didn't speak of the measures he took to keep her from conceiving. And he certainly didn't speak of the other measures that his possessed, obsessed mind wove in her absence.


	35. Glass Houses

Hawke idled in the doorway before going into the mansion, wandering through the murky dark. The air in the foyer was musty, but as she went deeper, the overtones of sweat, fire and liquor took hold. She could hear quick movements and sounds from deeper in. Following them on silent steps, she went into the cellar, watching Fenris glide with ephemeral grace to slash through one of the set barrels.

"What did it ever do to you?" Hawke idly drawled, leaning on the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

Attention snapping to her, the hazy glow of Fenris' tattoos flared as he said, "Hawke."

"That's me," she replied with a casual grin.

"Don't you ever knock?" he said, breathing heavily as he took his stance again. His broadsword waster clattered into the barrel, and he grunted as he knocked it over with a burst of energy.

"Barrelled that one right over," Hawke murmured, and he snorted, swinging around again. "And I used to knock, but no one ever answered. You know that."

Shaking his pale hair back, Fenris stood up, muscles relaxing as he looked back at her, "So I should just walk in when I visit your home?"

"If I ever thought you would without prompting, of course," Hawke said, her voice softening. "You called it home."

"I suppose I did," he murmured, throwing the practise sword down to come closer. "Is there something you want?"

"A great deal, I'm afraid," Hawke sighed dramatically, following as he walked right past her up the stairs. She followed as he went to retrieve some water, drinking a great deal before wiping the sweat from his face. "Though I'm getting closer to being satiated."

"If that day comes, let me know," he murmured, retrieving some coin from the mantle. He smacked it down on the table beside Hawke. "What I owe you."

"Don't be serious, Fenris," Hawke said, shaking her head. "You have need for it far more than I do."

"Thank you for reminding me," he said, leaving the coin there. "Your charity has not gone unnoticed. Keeping me ever in your debt."

"My debt," Hawke said, arching a brow, "You're the one who keeps losing to Varric. You used to be much better."

"It was hardly my influence," he faintly said, turning away to settle on one of the stools by the fire. He stared at it as Hawke wandered nearby, wiping a finger through the dust on a painting. "Why did you come here, Hawke. Since you became Champion, house calls are no longer your forte."

"I was curious if you'd heard anything from Isabela," Hawke carefully said, as she meandered across the room, toying with one of her daggers.

Fenris scoffed, "Do you really think I'd tell you if I did?"

"I had a faint inkling," Hawke murmured.

"She is gone because of you," Fenris said, tightening his hand into a fist. Shaking his head, he said, "Go back to your damned mage."

* * *

"Go with the blue," Varric said from where he lounged, a foot up on her desk. "It's diplomatic."

"Yes, just what I want," Hawke rolled her eyes, standing on the stool in her smalls as a seamstress busied herself with the fabrics. The woman finished measuring her and held up the fabric for inspection. "I'm partial to red, it might hide the blood stains."

The seamstress gasped and flushed, glancing as Varric laughed, "Maybe, maybe. But it makes your face look splotchy."

"It does not," Hawke murmured, stepping to the bed to retrieve a looking glass. She took the fabric from the dressmaker, holding it to her breast. She sighed, "It does. Balls, I'm getting old. Go with the blue, the slim styling. Fashionable enough for you, dwarf?"

Varric nodded with a grin, glancing to where he wrote in Hawke's journal.

"Thank you, messere. I will return to fit it by month's end."

"Of course, thank you," Hawke said with a tactful smile, "One of my servants will see you out." The smile faded as the woman left, "Why did I decide to do this?"

"For political clout? To make Blondie jealous?" Varric said, tapping the quill against his lips. "Maybe just to screw with them, shit, I don't know. Dwarves don't do this sort of thing. Least not in the merchant's guild."

"I've heard word of it already." Hawke put on false airs, "Did you hear the Champion is going to the Thorton's spring gala. Their son Richard has an eye on her hand." Her voice shifted, higher in pitch, "My, what this world comes to when a Ferelden can rise so high." She turned again, and Varric snickered as she continued, "Really, Edith, show more respect to the woman." Hawke sighed, "I only know if she were my daughter, she would properly be wed." To which she countered, "You're merely jealous she didn't join your family for First Day – etcetera etcetera."

"That your plan for the party?" Varric smirked. "Wander around with drink in hand impersonating them all? I'd pay to see that."

"Then you owe me a few silver for the free show, mm?" Hawke said, tossing her mirror down on the bed as she reached for her trousers. "Besides, I know better than to drink at these things."

"Is Blondie joining you?"

"No, it's too risky." Hawke quietly said. "That was our one time in the sun. I think most imagine I am a lonely spinster now."

"Like they'd say it to your face," Varric said, getting up to help lace her protective under-brace. "The most eligible spinster, at least."

"Most of them are so stuffy and boring," Hawke sighed, holding it steady as he tied them tight. "They aren't the sort I want to drink with. They get annoying, racist and judgemental. Not like you, my dear dwarf."

"It is unfair of you to even think to compare them," Varric sighed, patting her back. He watched as she snagged the rest of her clothes, licking her lips as he thought. "You know, if you were wanting to make it a bit more interesting, I might have a few ideas."

* * *

Hawke thanked the young man for the safe walk home, rolling her eyes as she disappeared into through the door of her house. It was late, and she silently walked into the main hall, where the fire burnt low and cast long shadows across the room. Sighing, she pulled at the neat curls and pins holding her hair, raking her fingers through the thinned beeswax that held it in place.

She uncorked the bottle on her desk and took a drink straight away, turning into the library as she pulled the coin purse she'd lifted from her escort out of her bosom. Chuckling, she drank another few gulps of the stiff liquor, exhaling sharply as she saw Anders in the corner, asleep face down in a book.

Feeling the whiskey warm her belly, Hawke took another gulp and set the bottle down, her dress swaying as she quietly walked up behind him. When she leant over to pull the book he lay on, the cat in his lap woke and took a swipe at her.

Hawke hissed in reply, softly saying, "You'll wake him. Stupid cat."

Anders stirred, and the cat leapt off the table and scurried away. He mumbled something, groggily opening his eyes.

"What is so interesting you need absorb it directly through your face," Hawke murmured as she flipped a page in the book.

Snagging it back, Anders rubbed his cheek, where faint lines of ink melted into his stubble, "Oh - nothing. Just... waiting up for you."

"Good job," she chuckled, taking a few steps back to her bottle to take a drink. Hawke closed her eyes and swallowed it, already feeling the edges of her senses fuzz away. "It was a simply delightful evening, I assure you."

Anders neatly stacked and covered his books, latching them shut as he said, "Oh?"

"Well there was the young suitor who was so confident he could win the Champion's hand," Hawke said, tossing the coin purse on the table with a clink. "And Lady Abigail's prized gem." Another clink followed as she pulled it from a hidden pocket. "And so many more, it was really quite ridiculous," she laughed, tripping a moment in her heeled boots.

"What is all of this?" he asked, rising to follow her as she pulled another gold chain out of her bosom.

"You should have seen them," Hawke whispered too loudly, taking another drink before pushing the bottle to the back of the table.

"You - you were stealing from them," Anders furrowed his brow, picking up a locket from the table.

"They wanted the Champion at their soiree," Hawke said, waving her arms in the air in a tipsy display. "Maker, and I did it sober, I needed something to entertain me. Dancing stiffly, shrugging off men who barely know how to tug their pricks properly. Thinking they could woo me."

"So you just stole from them," Anders said. "Why would you do that?"

"It was something Varric challenged me to, he'll never believe it," she laughed, though the sound cut off as Anders snatched her hand. The small silken coin purse dropped, and the sovereigns spilled on the floor.

"You're a thief," his voice fractured deeper, hairline cracks of blue momentarily breaking his veneer. "Stealing what is not yours on a whim, for no other cause than your own vanity."

"Nothing new really it - hey," Hawke looked up to him, cheeks flushed from the drink as she tested her wrist. "It's not like I'm taking from people who actually need any of it."

"Nor do you," Anders said, his voice his own once more as he loosened his grip. "Why, Hawke? It isn't right."

"Is that you or Jusitice who thinks so?"

"It's always me. There is no one or the other. It is who I am," he said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "I've never said otherwise."

Hawke slipped her hand around his neck, pulling him into her lips to kiss him. It was only when her lips found his neck and her hand his loins that he responded, twisting his fingers into the skirt of her dress. Anders exhaled as she bit his neck, tugging her closer and laying his forehead on her shoulder as she readily undid his trousers and teased him hard.

"Why," he whispered, breath stilted as she plied him so knowingly.

"Don't think," Hawke murmured in reply, squeezing and running her hand over the head of his shaft.

When Anders kissed her, he bit her bottom lip, tasting the sweetness of the whiskey on her. He shifted down to catch her thigh, and Hawke pushed herself up into his grasp, skirt bunching tight against them. Kissing her hard, he stepped her back to the table, and she hiked her skirt up, still toying with his shaft as his hands gathered the fabric too.

Pressing his face into her neck again, Anders panted out as Hawke wrapped a leg around him and drew him in, guiding their union. He slipped in, opening his mouth to lavish his tongue upon her skin, and her moan urged him on. Wrapping her hands up her back, he thrust up, thighs smacking the table beneath her as she twined her legs tighter.

"Yesss," Hawke whispered, flushed as she leant back into his arms. An arm around his neck, she put a hand on the table to steady herself against the rough jerks. The soft hiss of breath cut away into his lips, and her muscles tensed to roll into his rhythm.

Anders shifted his weight, breathing in her lips as they fucked. Putting his hand on the desk, his fingers slipped on the gem there. Picking it up, he stopped, and Hawke's legs slipped around his thighs.

"Wha - what is it," she softly panted, fingers plying the back of his neck.

Closing his eyes, Anders tossed the gem back across the desk and disentangled himself. Tucking himself back into his pants, he smoothed out his coat and stammered, "I need to go."

"Don't -" was all Hawke managed as he turned and left the library. Her legs dangling off the table, dress bunched and half-ruined, and she stared at the doorway, senses blurred away. She hiccupped and heard the door to the cellar click shut, and she looked at her spoils on the table beside her before reaching for the whiskey once more.


	36. Against the Wall

"Shit," Varric said under his breath, holding his coat closed in the brisk weather. The crowd jostled around them, waiting for the Knight-Captain to show. The dwarf reached back and snagged the hem of Hawke's cloak, motioning to the templars. "Where's Blondie?"

"I don't know," she murmured, standing in the public square in Lowtown. She wrapped the scarf around her face to conceal her features. Spotting Aveline, she rapped Varric's shoulder and they wove through the murmuring crowd.

"Please, maintain your distance," the guard-captain said, lowering her hand as she recognized Hawke's eyes. "You shouldn't be here."

"You always say that," Hawke said, moving closer as Aveline walked them to the periphery of the crowd. "What is going on?"

Aveline looked pained as she kept Hawke's gaze, before glancing towards the wall, "You know the first of the month is when executions are."

"Now-a-days, yes," Hawke murmured, sniffling in the cold. "Ay me, the days when it was rare, I have grown bored with the ordeal."

"There," Varric said, drawing Hawke's gaze to the other side of the square.

"What is the crime?" Hawke demanded, drawing her friend's attention once more. "Please, Aveline."

Closing her eyes, the guard-captain hesitated before saying, "Abetting known apostates."

"Did he tell you," Hawke said to Varric, a furrow knitting her brow.

"Shit Hawke, I can't keep track of everything," Varric murmured as she pushed them away.

"Really, you often insinuated otherwise," she snapped back, following the edge of the crowd as they roused, the templars visible on the wall. Hawke scanned for Anders once more.

"I lost a bet?" Varric said, huffing as he tried to keep up.

"You don't lose bets," Hawke growled, looking back only a moment before she lost sight of Anders' feathery shoulders across the crowd. "Maker's fucking balls, Varric."

"Take it up with him," Varric countered, coughing lightly.

"It's on my list," she murmured, looking to where the trio of individuals were being led out. The crowd had quieted, listening as Knight-Captain Cullen read their crimes.

"For the wilful concealment of known apostates and the endangerment of the citizenry of Kirkwall..."

Hawke moved again, seeing Anders cloaked closer to the stairs, and she darted through the crowd, Varric struggling to keep up behind her. She caught his shoulder just as a Chantry brother read the first prisoner her rights.

"Anders, fancy seeing you here," she said, her eyes smiling.

"Hawke," his eyes drew to her, expression hard. "What are you doing here?"

In his distraction, the older woman on the wall was pushed over the edge, and the rope snapped taut, choking off her scream. Ander's head snapped back, his expression crushed as he saw the woman struggle, "No."

"Get her down," Hawke said to Varric, and he snapped Bianca free.

Staggering and clenching his fists, a vengeful blue fire licked up Ander's robes, and as Varric's bolt flew, a fireball followed and cracked against the wall in a flush of brimstone. The citizenry gathered crushed to the ground, and the ring of steel and screams filled the air. Across the crowd, another flare of light sparked and another, as the other hidden mages responded. One of the templars along the wall froze in place, and the commoners surged.

Hawke drew her blades, looking to where Anders had been - but the man had launched through the crowd, a crackle of magical energy fracturing the cobbles where another templar advanced. Cursing under her breath, she took the stairs, narrowly avoiding the blade of another templar. She turned and kicked him off the wall, before she ran to where the other prisoners were held.

"Halt, mage," the templar stammered as she approached, and Hawke snagged a throwing dagger from her hip and pegged him in the head. There was another burst of fire that made the wide wall beneath them tremble, and he crumpled.

"Not a mage," she whispered, jerking the blade from his bloodied face and kicking him off the wall before running to bound men. In the square below, people were scattering as the guard ushered them away. Hawke cut their bonds, hissing, "Follow me!"

Hawke fought to the base of the wall, another templar left wounded in her wake, and gathered up the body of the woman. Down amidst the crowd, Anders staff twirled, and a templar screamed as his eye-sockets burst from the lightning coursing through him.

"Anders!" she called, and when he launched another blossom of fire, she whistled sharply. He turned on her with an equal fire in his eyes, but she stood her ground. "Now!"

Varric seemed to have paid enough attention, and the guards hung back as they fled down an alley towards the docks. He held the grate as each apostate and prisoner slipped into the stench. Down into the middens, they ran until it was just the sound of their panting breath, stopping only when they'd reached somewhere not ankle-deep in the frozen filth.

Hawke shrugged to her knees, laying the body down, and Anders joined her, expression crushed as he touched the woman's cheek.

"There's nothing I can do," Anders said, closing her eyes. One of the other prisoners choked as the mage moved back.

"Penny..." the elderly man said as he gathered the woman up. "Blessed Andraste, how could they..."

Hawke looked as Anders turned away, following him up the path as he scarce acknowledged her. He was looking into the shadows.

"So were you planning on telling me what was happening?" she asked under her breath. When he didn't turn, she stepped in his way.

"No," Anders said, finally meeting her eye. "I thought it best you weren't here. Since you're the Champion and all."

"No shutting me out," Hawke said, her voice edgy. She snagged his arm as he closed his eyes, a lick of blue fire up his fists. Her voice lightened, "Hey, look at me. You got them. Two out of three is better than Fenris at Diamondback."

"But never good enough," Anders shook his head, the light fading as his breath shudder. He looked past her to the two men. "She's dead because of me. Because they protected me."

"She's dead because of the templars and Meredith," Hawke bit off the words. "Don't keep me from this. I'll help, love, you know that."

"I know," Anders said, his expression heavy. "And I am ever grateful."

"We'll get them out of the city," Hawke said, wiping over her mouth. "We'll get them to safety."


	37. Marigolds

Hawke walked alongside Aveline through the empty streets, scanning the houses one by one. The sky overhead was empty, save for the trail of smoke ascending from the chantry pyre.

"Thank you for doing this," Aveline said, tucking the scarf over her nose as they rounded onto another street.

"You know me," Hawke murmured. "Love a good whiff of quicklime."

"There shouldn't be so much today," Aveline replied with a sigh. "Most of the nobles have left the city now. Abandoning the rest to their fate. We should be down in Lowtown."

"Yes, Donnic would just love if we went there," Hawke said, glancing over one of the doorways. She stopped to check the barricade. "You're one of the only motes of sense this city has left, the last thing we need is you succumbing to the wasting."

"And do you think I enjoy thinking of him down there?" Aveline furrowed her brow, rounding back towards the chantry.

"So coddle him."

"No," Aveline sighed. "I cannot grant him any favours. It is unfair to protect him and not the rest of my men. I worry about them all in the end... I've lost five in the past weeks."

"I'm sorry," Hawke quietly said. "This might not be so much of an issue if they opened the Gallows."

"Yes, because Meredith would love that," Aveline scoffed.

"Do you know how many lives Anders alone has saved in Darktown?" Hawke quietly said, looking amidst the houses and apartments. "Some flee there, because he can offer a modicum of hope. Imagine if all the healers from the Gallows were allowed to use their Maker given gifts, how many fewer men, women and children would die."

"Then by all means, petition the Knight-Commander."

"The ferries are no longer docking in the city," Hawke said, and they stopped a moment. There were candles lit and melted all along the chantry steps - prayers for those who had died. The sun was beating down, hot in the grips of summer, and half of the candles melted from it alone. "As if locking the districts down weren't bad enough, she cuts off the one lifeline that might be useful."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think Anders were gaining a greater foothold in your opinions," Aveline said as they turned towards the markets.

"My apologies, dear Aveline, I had thought saving lives was something of a noble goal, damn my practicality," Hawke said, looking at her. "And sorry for wishing to see or hear from my sister."

"I - you're right," Aveline sighed, and fell quiet a moment. Finally she said, "Donnic has asked for my hand."

Stopping in the square, Hawke looked to her with a peculiar grin, "Really? Amidst all this?"

"It - it was before the lockdown," Aveline said, an edge in her voice as she pointed down an alley to look. "But I - we had hoped to be wed for the solstice."

"A good omen for the ceremony," Hawke said.

"I don't know if I feel right doing it now. But... I'd like you there," the guard-captain replied.

"Of course," Hawke said, giving her friend a squeeze, "I'll have to steal something nice for a gift."

Aveline groaned, "Please don't."

They fell silent as a pair of templars passed. They nodded and acknowledged Hawke, and she bristled as they continued on behind her.

"How many bets they aren't helping plague victims and guarding for looters," Hawke said under her breath. "Maker forbid they actually be useful."

"Just let it go, Hawke."

* * *

Hawke peeled her face from the pillow as Anders moved out of bed, his footsteps in the dark uneven. He was breathing heavily, and she smeared her hand over her face as she sat up more. "Blondie?"

Anders huffed slightly, a half-laugh as he stopped, "What?"

"Did I stink up the bed or something awful like that?" her voice cracked with sleep. She sniffed deep as he swayed, his shadow visible in the low light. His luminous eyes turned to her.

"No," he rasped, pacing towards the door again before turning about. His voice weakened as he sank into the chair by the wardrobe, "No, it is never you."

"Never say never," Hawke said, shifting under the covers to dangle her legs off the bed.

"No," Anders whispered, and there was a crackle of light before he covered his eyes. "I can't. I just... Maker..."

Hawke was on her feet to pull him against her abdomen as he trembled, and he gripped her bare skin, "I'm here for you."

"I wish you weren't," he croaked, and her fingers tightened in his hair to keep his face against her stomach.

"You don't mean that," she tried to laugh it off. "Come, you can even smush your face into my breasts. That always makes you feel better."

Anders smeared his face up her skin, a dampness left in the wake as he nestled his head between the soft mounds of skin. She cradled him close, almost grinning in the dark. "Sometimes I think you're ridiculous just to try and make me smile."

"Alas you will never know," she sighed, stepping closer as his hands kneaded her skin and backside.

"It smells like you," he whispered, turning his face against her skin and breathing deep. "I am sorry for waking you."

Hawke laid her lips atop his head, "Nevermind that, you are naked and nuzzling my breasts, entirely worth the loss of sleep."

Anders made a soft sound, turning his face and settling into the slender curve of her stomach as she ran her fingers through his hair, tugging through the tangles. They stood like that for a while in the dark, his breathing slowing and his hands caressing up and down her back and thighs. Hawke left her cheek on his brow, hunched to envelop him in her arms.

"You deserve some sort of normal," he softly whispered, even as she kissed his brow. "Why me, Marian?"

"Well," she exhaled dramatically, "Once you go abomination, you never go back."

Anders sighed, and she tugged his head back to kiss him, resting her knee between his legs. The kiss deepened as he parted his lips, and Hawke tightened her grip on his hair.

When he tugged his lips away into her neck with a soft shudder, she whispered, "Because I love you more than anyone else."

* * *

"If you two make a scene or ruin this in any way, Maker help me, I will gut you," Aveline said under her breath. Orana stopped her work a moment, and the woman turned to her. "Not you, dearest. I can't thank you enough for your help."

"It is my pleasure, Miss Aveline," Orana curtsied and disappeared back into kitchen.

"So no goats," Hawke said, expressionless. "I thought I might bring some wheat."

"I could give a speech about the need to properly temper steel," Varric said, thumbing his chin.

Aveline covered her face and sighed, "I knew this was a terrible idea. It couldn't be something private."

"I think there's a horse waiting for you."

"The chantry isn't that far," Aveline groaned, wringing her hands as she paced in her gown.

"Stop acting so manly, Aveline," Varric said, earning a reproachful glance. "You're wearing a dress! I thought you'd be more dainty."

"It's bad enough not having a sword," she sighed with a soft huff.

Hawke took her arm, smiling, "You look lovely. Here." There was a small stiletto in the palm of her hand. "Put that in your boot or stocking or something."

"No," Aveline said, pushing it back. "Maker, look what you two've done to me."

"The marigolds are a nice touch," Varric said, inspecting the blade's handle. "Turning away such a thoughtful gift."

"It's a cheese knife, I swear," Hawke protested, putting a hand to her bosom. "Perish the thought it might be used for something otherwise."

Aveline closed her eyes, composing herself before taking the small dagger, "Thank you, Hawke."

"I respect you more than anyone, Aveline," Hawke said, taking her friend's hand. "And I am very glad for you this day. I give you a little blade to prick, though I suppose you'll be gaining another prick today..."

"Agh," Aveline pulled her hand away, rolling her eyes as Varric sniggered. "And for a moment I thought you might actually be serious."

"I was entirely serious," Hawke said, picking up the heavy cloak and draping it around the guard-captain's shoulders. She pulled the deep hood up over Aveline's head as she whispered, "I hope you are pierced, and stabbed in every which way this evening."

"Is it too late to rescind my invitation?"

"Yes," Hawke said in a breath, taking her friend's arm. "Carry her train, dwarf. To the chantry."


	38. Looming Cumulus

Hawke put a few coins in the elven servant's grasp, and the girl curtsied before sneaking back out. Lingering in the kitchen by the low fires, it was a while longer before the door closed behind Bethany.

"Sister," she called, hurrying over to embrace Hawke.

Exhaling, Hawke said, "That's me. Glad to see you still remember."

"I've missed you so much," Bethany whispered, squeezing tight despite her sister's armour.

"And I you," she replied. "Should I pull your hair, just for old time's sake?"

Bethany laughed briefly, wiping a hand over her eyes as she took a bit of a step back, "You haven't changed."

"I'm not sure everyone would say that," Hawke said, settling onto the bench by the fire. Her sister joined her. "You'll have to thank Orsino again."

"Believe me I do," she softly sighed, looking down into her lap. She nervously glanced back at the door, shaking her head as it took a moment for her to speaks. "I keep thinking they'll be right there, listening to my every word. He grows more irritated by the day. But he's scared too. We all are."

"I know," Hawke said, furrowing her brow and taking her sister's hands. She was shaking. "I hear a little from Anders, but he hasn't been able to help his allies inside the same way."

"Meredith is growing more and more unreasonable," she whispered. "I haven't seen the sun in more than a month, and we are scarce even allowed to continue teaching the children. Oh Marian." Bethany covered her mouth, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

"What is it?" Hawke asked, rubbing her thumb over the back of Bethany's hand.

"One of my students," Bethany whispered, smearing the tears from her eyes. "She went for her Harrowing this week, they say she died. But she was one of the brightest, I'm certain they just killed her outright. She had so much potential, and they just couldn't stand how strong she might be."

"Bethany, I'm so sorry," Hawke said, pulling her close again.

Bethany laid her head on Hawke's shoulder, closing her eyes as her voice trembled, "She reminded me of you. If you had been a mage, you'd have been just like her. And I - I can't cry around them, the templars are always there. I can't let them see, I can't give them that power over me."

Hawke trembled a bit, kissing her sister's hair, "We're getting you out of here."

"No - no, I can't," Bethany said, sitting back and sniffing in sharply. She wiped her eyes again. "They need me. And I can't leave Orsino to this. I've duties as an enchanter."

"You aren't safe here, Bethany."

"But neither are any of them, Marian," Bethany more forcefully said. She was on her feet, running her hands over her hair. "Others might just be able to run, but I can't. Never mind my phylactery. This is my family now, and they need me."

"I know," Hawke said, still sitting on the bench. She stared at the embrous fire. Bethany sat back down beside her and Hawke wrapped her arm around her.

"How is everyone?" she quietly asked.

"Varric is as sexy as every, Aveline's one of the only people trying to keep people sane," Hawke drew a breath as Bethany chuckled. "Merrill spends all her time with a broken mirror, might be a reflection of something."

"Sister," Bethany groaned. Hawke grinned, squeezing her knee. "What about you and Anders?"

"We're still living together," Hawke looked down. "It is difficult for him with what Meredith is doing in the city. But I'm helping him gather some things for a ritual or something like that."

"Are you certain that's safe?"

Hawke chuckled, "Truly, do you see me shying away from lack of safety?" She pressed her lips together before saying, "He says it will help free him from Justice. He might be normal again."

"Normal as a mage can be, anyway."

"Well, mages are normal to me," Hawke said, hugging her sister with one arm again. "It's all the rest of us that are deficient somehow."

"How kind of you," Bethany chuckled, and she leant into Hawke's arm with a soft sigh. They sat in the quiet, looking at the struggling fire. "It's the simple things I miss."

"I know," Hawke said.

"I miss the fields and grass," Bethany quietly said. "Feeling the soil in my hands. There are gardens here, but it isn't the same. Singing. Laughing."

"Is that forbidden here too?"

"No," Bethany said. "But you never want to the same way."

Talking through till the morning meal, Hawke embraced her sister tight as the cook returned. She waited for a templar she knew to help see her out the serving passage, climbing down a wall to drop into the main courtyard of the Gallows.

The templars stopped her as she returned to the docks, demanding she drop her hood and present her papers. When Hawke pulled it back, they grew rigid.

"My apologies, Champion, please continue on your way."

"Thank you, ser knight," she dryly said, before walking down to the docks.

* * *

"Thank you for your help," Anders said as they scaled the top of the wall in the moonlight. Varric sat beside them on watch as he and Hawke hauled up a rope.

"Well, you know me," the dwarf replied. "Nothing better to do at night than play with corpses."

"They aren't publicizing it anymore," Anders replied, pulling the body up with a sigh. "Good people. They only wanted to see their family again."

"We both know how much of a crime that is," Hawke murmured, and Varric held her leg for balance as she leaned to retrieve the other rope. "It would be easier to cut them down. I know, I know." They pulled up the third body, and Anders unrolled the linens from his pack, swathing the bodies before each of them tossed it over their shoulder.

"Darktown then?" Hawke asked, trying to shoulder the weight. "I'm not certain where a burning would go unnoticed otherwise."

"I have a place," Anders said, and they carried the bodies to the abandoned apartments they'd climbed up through. Manoeuvring down slowly, they hid in the shadows as a templar patrol passed, before finally slipping down into the mineshafts.

Struggling through the underbelly of the city, Anders spoke under his breath, "You were helping that Sebastian again."

"I don't know if I would call it that," Hawke murmured, moving slowly to shoulder the weight of the stiff body.

"You don't even believe in the Chantry," Anders replied, and Varric snickered.

"Like many things in this world, just because I don't believe in it, doesn't mean it isn't there," Hawke murmured. They walked on in the relative dark, before she continued, "It was a collection for orphans. I can't say no to children."

"No doubt a ploy to rout out potential mages - or adopt them into the faith," Anders sneered.

"Dear me, I thought it was to feed them," she replied. "How could I have gotten that wrong?"

"It's because they're children," Varric chipped in. "They're sneaky like that."

"I didn't mean it like that," Anders said, and they stopped in the passage he indicated. A large break in the wall opened to the ocean, and the sound of waves could be heard below. A sliver of light shone in from the half moon. "What if he turns Merrill or myself in? What then?"

"It won't happen, Blondie," Varric said, exhaling as he tossed the body down. He stretched his shoulder, "You worry too much."

"Perhaps if he were talking about you and the merchants guild you'd be more concerned," Anders said.

"You've got me there," Varric chuckled. "But I've also got a lot of other back up plans to catch me if I fall."

"I won't spend anymore time with him," Hawke said. They moved further away as Anders lit the bodies. "I don't enjoy his company, but I have the coin... I enjoy helping people."

"You could give your gold to me, if you didn't have any use for it," Varric said, looking up to her.

"Unfortunately for you, the kind of help you need money cannot buy," Hawke peered down at him. They silenced and covered their mouths as the bodies caught.

"There are a lot of good people in this city. People who are good to mages," Anders whispered grimly. "The Chantry wants nothing more than to drown them, and leave behind the obedient, silent masses."

Hawke put a hand on his arm, and he hung his head. She slowly said, "Would you like me to say something for them?"

"What can we say when the god we would pray to for guidance to is the cause of their death?" They were silent before Anders added, "The Grand Cleric should be the one cutting them down. The one seeing this. She condones it, she does nothing to protect them. Not even mages... just..." He fell silent.

Hawke put a hand on his back, "Then perhaps we can only hope they are in a better place than this."

"Wouldn't be hard," Varric said under his breath.

* * *

 _The world shifted in muted hues before pulling together. The soft crackle of the fire drew Hawke's eyes away from the bread in her hands. She wiped the flour from her nose, unable to keep back the sneeze. At the sound, their small tabby jumped on the table._

 _"Shoo, you don't want this," she murmured, and it hissed and swiped at her. "Bloody cat. Try that again and I'll feed you to his grace."_

 _Wrinkling her nose, Hawke found the bread within a pan, and she set it into the fired oven, unable to feel its heat. The walls around her unravelled and rewove, and she was on the steps down into the entry hall, easily within the warm darkness of the library._

 _"Love?"_

 _Anders moved along the bookshelf, unheeding of her presence. He evenly said, "I came to collect my books."_

 _"Funny joke," Hawke nervously laughed, struggling to see properly as she stepped closer. "I deserve that."_

 _"There is a place for me in the Circle," he said without inflection. He put another book in his satchel, turning to her. There was the undeniable brand of the Chantry sun on his forehead. "I will be able to study there."_

 _"Stop it," she whispered, reaching for him with a sudden, frantic need._

 _But he no longer stood there, and the light from the high windows was fading. Hawke struggled to breath, a throbbing pain behind her eyes as a bookshelf nearby slumped in ruin. They were decaying, and she couldn't feel her hands. His grace lay dead in the corner, but somehow she remained, struggling to see. If she could only open her eyes._

Hawke trembled in her bed, slowly opening her eyes in the dim room. The grogginess of the Fade clung as she moved, feeling the sheets and moving her fingers. She breathed deep, rolling onto her side.

The bed was empty, and she pawed the cold, unslept space. Hawke shuddered again and closed her eyes, a soft whine in her throat. Her mabari stirred from the end of the bed, and it shook with the weight of his movement. He crawled up her, licking her face and forcing her to hug him.

Closing her eyes, Hawke hugged his muscular neck, blinking away the dampness in her eyes as she whispered, "Good boy."

Throwing on a simple robe as she pulled out of bed, the mabari laid in Hawke's place as she hurried out of her room. She could see the candlelight from the library, and the pain in her chest tightened. Taking the steps silently, she looked to where Anders worked by candlelight, one hand moving with a quill, the other upon the cat in his lap. She cautiously approached, running her hands over his shoulders and neck, and he pulled a scrap of paper over what he was reading.

"I thought you'd gone to sleep," he said, his voice cracking from disuse.

"I had," was all she said, putting her lips in his hair and breathing him in. Hawke's hands dropped down under his armpits, suddenly tickling him.

"Stop, I need to finish this," he coughed a few times, squirming in the chair. He cleared his throat, "Marian, please."

"I just need to hear you," she whispered, pinning him into the chair as her fingers moved again. "I don't care if it's anger or anything."

When he wriggled more, she bit his neck, and Anders jerked into a forced laugh. The tabby in his lap leapt away, and he tried not to laugh as he said, "What's gotten into you?"

"I can't remember when I last heard you laugh," Hawke murmured, tracking him as he turned in the chair, nipping at his neck again before sitting on the table. "I needed to."

"Weird, even for you," Anders replied, exhaling and moving some things out of her way.

"I'll go, I promise," she whispered, looking down and crossing her arms. "Just kiss me like it's the last time you'll ever see me?"

Anders' eyes passed over his work before looking up to her, a ghost in his eyes. She had a dubious, lopsided grin, and he took her hand to pull from the chair. Slipping his hand into her hair, he drew her in and kissed her roughly, his other hand soon winding about her waist. Their tongues met with progressive need, and he tightened his grip in her hair, his lips soon smearing across her cheek as he clutched her close.

Hawke exhaled softly through her nose, closing her eyes as she whispered, "Not bad."

Holding her still, Anders kissed her hair and caressed her cheek as he let her go and said, "I'll be up shortly, I promise."

Touching the amulet around his neck, Hawke nodded, kissing his nose before leaving again. Left alone in the library, Anders leant onto the table, gripping it as he shuddered and hung his head. The small tabby beside him mewed, unheeded.


	39. In a Handbasket

"This has all gone to shit," Hawke murmured, out of breath as they stood on the docks. A large number of templars and mages lay around them in various stages of death, sleep and unconsciousness.

"You can say that again," Varric murmured.

She was wiping the blood from her face, when a number of crates tumbled deeper in the berth. Hawke spun around at the head of her companions, daggers raised.

"Maker protect me, I told them no," the young templar said as he crept out. "We didn't want this."

"You," Anders said, taking a step closer. "We helped you, why did they attack us?"

"They're convinced you're working for Meredith, Champion," the templar said, trembling. "It's Keran, serah. I never forget what you did to save me... I never escape the dreams."

"Meredith is just about the last person I want alive," Hawke laughed in disbelief, the sound growing harder as she circled and gripped her daggers. From a wave of Ander's hand, the mages and templars that lay suffering around them slipped into torpor once more.

"Thrask didn't know that," Keran said, moving uneasily. "They just knew there was a spy - and they wanted to... Maker's mercy and your blessed bride, guide us from this... I didn't know it was you."

"What's done is done," Anders whispered, walking between the Circle mages. His expression was ashen, "Most of them are already dead."

"I had heard they took someone from the Circle - hoping to keep the spy at bay."

Hawke turned back to him, her expression hardening, "Who did they take?"

"A girl named Bethany," Keran said.

"They took my fucking sister," Hawke said, her voice a heated whisper.

"What were they thinking?" Anders said.

"They weren't," Varric said. "Where - where did they take the girl, nug for brains?"

"The coast," a mage on the ground beside them said, and Hawke was on her knees to clutch him by his robes.

"Why would you do this?" she hissed, shaking him. "We're trying to help you! Tell me!"

"Marian," Anders said, pulling her back from the mage as she shook him. She huffed and threw Anders' arms off. Fenris eyes turned from her as the mage on the ground was healed.

"Get out of my way," she snarled, making a sound of frustration as she took up the stairs out of the berth.

* * *

"Bethany," Hawke choked on her words, collapsing to her knees in the dirt as she picked up her sister's head. She blinked rapidly, her voice cracking, "Open your eyes, little sister. Anders - Anders what is wrong with her."

"It's blood magic," he said, as the young mage came alongside him. "She's still alive."

"G-grace did it," he said. "I - I can release her, but it... I must use more of it."

"Typical," Fenris grunted, wrinkling his nose.

"Come on, Broody," Varric sighed, motioning back to the path.

"Just let her go," Hawke demanded, laying Bethany back on the ground.

Alain stood over them, hand trembling as he brought a blade across his hand, the air charging with the release of his blood and the arcanum uttered on his lips. The blood red mist that rose around them seemed to draw from Bethany's pores, and in a moment she sucked in a deep breath, body stiffening as her head rolled.

"Sister?" she softly said.

"That's me," Hawke forced a smile, embracing her close as she murmured. "Can't get rid of me, I'm afraid."

Bethany hugged her sister in kind, trembling as she squeezed her tight, "The last thing I remember... was templars coming for me. I - I thought that was it."

"They can't hurt you," Hawke murmured into her. "Not templars, or mages, or anyone. They'll have to survive me first."

"Hawke," Varric and Fenris jogged up as Hawke helped Bethany up. "Templars are marching from the main road."

"Stay here," Hawke said, and was on her feet to head them off, standing boldly as Knight-Captain Cullen and his retinue approached.

"Champion," he said, stopping in his tracks. "Samson had not specified you were handling the situation."

"I guess you didn't get on with those mages as well as you thought, eh?" Samson said, crossing his arms.

Hawke remained tensed, looking back to her sister before she said, "The situation is under control. Those that remain... they are not a threat."

"None the less, they will return to the tower to be interrogated," Cullen motioned to the other templars. "We cannot know what sort of corruption they have taken in."

"You have my word, they did not fight. You can't simply hand them over to Meredith," Hawke said, her voice hard. Bethany touched her arm, drawing her attention. "I would prefer to take my sister back to the city. Do you think I would leave you to escort her, when you could not even protect her from your own?"

Varric cleared his throat behind her, barely murmuring, "Hawke..."

"Unless you wish word to escape that the Gallows cannot keep their charges under lock and key?"

"I -" Cullen cut off his words, blinking lengthily with fatigue. He turned to the other templars, "Gather the living to march back to the city. We will send a second entourage for the bodies, Maker guide them."

Hawke stood vigilant by her sister and Anders as the Knight-Captain moved amidst the bodies. A few knights and mages were roused, and subsequently healed by Alain. When one or two looked at her, she pressed her lips into a fine line.

Cullen stopped as the rest headed for the cliffs, "If she is not back within the Gallows by day's end, it will be on your head, serah Hawke."

When the templar had gone out of earshot, Varric huffed and murmured, "I'd pay to see him try and take it."

Hawke's shoulders slumped a bit, and she ran a hand over her face.

Before she could speak, Bethany took her arm and squeezed her close, "No wild escape plans, sister. I know that look."

"I was thinking of pie, thank you very much," Hawke murmured in reply. They walked to the edge of the sea as the three men waited in the wings. "You need but say the word, and I'd do anything to get you free, Bethany."

"I know," she replied, and they stayed arm in arm. "It's not just about me, though."

"What are you saying," Hawke grinned a bit, casting a sideways glance at her. "It has always been about you, Lady Bethany. I suppose it's best we return you to your castle. And the First Enchanter perhaps?"

"Stop it," Bethany softly said, trying not to grin as they turned.

"I'm just glad to see you," Hawke said in a moment of brevity. Finally she sighed as they took to the path, "I have all these months of ribbing and sibling jibes to catch up on. Letters just don't have the same effect."

* * *

The sun was setting as they made it to the steps of the Gallows, and Knight-Captain Cullen stopped them just inside the gates.

"I am surprised to see you return," he said and crossed his arms.

"What can I say," Hawke sighed, and reached for his cheek. He stepped out of the way as she pouted, "I missed you dearly."

"I am better than that, ser," Bethany sighed, letting go of her sister's arm.

"Indeed," Cullen said, peering at Hawke. "We will take her inside from here."

"Dear ser templar, I would not be doing my duty to this city if I did not see her to the First Enchanter myself," Hawke put a hand to her bosom, ushering Bethany off towards the entryway. They turned templar heads as they walked through the dusky courtyard, and the Champion proclaimed, "You find the strangest things in your pockets at times. Good thing I was nearby, quite the danger."

"Sister," Bethany hissed, and Hawke smiled brazenly as they were up the steps. "They will make it worse for me."  
"I –" Hawke's smile faded, and she shook her head. "Sorry, sister."

Bethany knocked twice on the First Enchanter's door before opening it, and Orsino turned from the bookshelf where he stood.

"Bethany," he put the book down, and they hurried into each other as Hawke closed the door behind them. He embraced her without thought as he said, "There were rumours of what had happened to you, I feared the worst."

"It was no work of Meredith's, don't worry," Bethany replied, blushing as he took her hands to kiss her knuckles.

"Champion," Orsino turned with Bethany at his side. "I – I led you on this chase, all the while one of the things I cherish most was being kept from me. I should have done nothing at all."

"My sister is cherished by many I assure you," Hawke said, smile softening beneath tired eyes.

"Thrask is dead," Bethany said, and the elven man turned away to his desk, leaning onto his hands. "As is Grace and many others."

"Damn it," he said under a hushed breath, though the tension in his shoulders fled when Bethany put a hand over his.

"They were working together," Hawke's voice dropped as she crossed her arms. "Against Meredith. And were convinced that I was working for the bloody woman."

"Maker protect us on the paths we tread," Orsino quietly said, shaking his head. "No matter what steps we take, we are pushed back another three."

"We will find a way," Bethany said, and he straightened as she folded her fingers around his hands. "We will make it through this."

"I would like to think you were safer here, but..." Orsino touched her cheek before looking back to Hawke and releasing Bethany's hands. "I apologize, Champion. We..."

"No need to explain to me," Hawke grinned tiredly. "Anders has told me of the joys of love beneath a templar's gaze, so perhaps mine is a little less scrutinizing. Just come give me a hug, mageling, before the knights come to lock you away."

Bethany stepped into her sister and embraced her tightly, "I miss you dearly."

"I know," Hawke sighed against her, closing her eyes. "I am sorry for bringing you back here."

"They would have come for me. They would have killed me." Bethany's voice wavered. "I could not leave..."

"I understand," Hawke said, stepping back and flipping her sister's hair. "The house would be too crowded."

"I swear they will not harm her again," Orsino said, parting his hands. "I could not live with myself if anything further happened to her."

"Indeed," Hawke chuckled, looking up to Orsino as she released her sister. "You have my assurance I will assist with that fate."

* * *

"She's back in the Gallows now," Hawke said as she sat down, heavy circles under her eyes.

"Geeze, Hawke," Varric said, putting a hand on her shoulder as he put a drink in front of her and sat beside him. "Sunshine's okay though?"

"As good as anyone in there can be," Hawke emptily said. "She's stronger than she seems. Did I miss something? When did everyone go insane?"

Fenris shook his head, crossing his arms.

"They're desperate and frightened," Anders said, shaking his head. "It's what happens when people are pushed to the limit."

"I know," Hawke replied, staring at her hands around the flagon. "Bethany doesn't blame them. She honestly laments their deaths - laments what they were trying to do, even if they went about it the entirely wrong way."

"If the Gallows weren't locked down before, they certainly are now," Hawke said, before drinking half her glass. "Even Orsino is confined to the inner courtyards now. I... I don't know when I'll see her again. Meredith imprisoned the people I knew - those that weren't killed in the unrest. There's no reasoning with her anymore." Her words trailed off as she looked away.

"Anymore?" Varric asked. "Was there ever?"

"What does she honestly hope to accomplish?" Anders said, shaking his head. "Why can't people be rational, moral creatures! They would see that even mages are different, they are people too."

"Hate to break it to you, Blondie, but people aren't rational or moral," Varric said, smirking. "Most of your friends aren't even."

"To me, it is rational to fear those who can become some sort of unspeakable horror. Especially those bordering on terrorism - who kidnap their own kind. I have to imagine the explosions in the underground had something to do with you," Fenris said to Anders. "How did they escape the Gallows?"

"What are you talking about?" Hawke asked, sitting up and furrowing her brow.

"To you, we're some sort of terrorist. But to me, and many others, we're freedom fighters," Anders said. "I see your perspective, I may not accept it but I see it. Accept my desire to be free - to live like you do! See what it is like in mine and every mage's shoes, and you'll see why we're driven to this."

Fenris scoffed and shook his head, and Anders' hands tightened into fists.

"We always return to this loop. You'll never try and see."

"I just see it differently," Fenris countered. "To you an apple is just an apple, but to me, it can easily be something to throw and cause another harm."

"You don't like apples?" Hawke lightly said, looking at her drink. She laughed nervously, "I would love one right now."

"That's ridiculous. You're impossible to talk to," Anders replied, leaning towards Fenris. "All these years, haven't you seen how I am just like any of you? Or how Bethany is?"

"I notice you omit Merill... in my time in Kirkwall, I've seen just as many - if not more - horrors than I ever did as a slave in Minrathous." Fenris made a sound of disbelief, "That you profess to be the same as anyone is a farce."

"Yes, that's right, because you're so normal." Anders shook his head, "You chose to be what you are, Fenris - and look at what you do to people. You almost killed your own sister. You wanted nothing more than to rip her heart out."

"Anders -" Hawke interjected.

"I was born this way - I didn't choose to become some damned creature like you," Anders ignored her. "I didn't lust for this power."

"Just like you didn't choose to become an abomination," Fenris said, staring him down.

"Learn some empathy," Anders snapped. "It makes me sick that you hold yourself above everyone when you're the worst offender of all."

"Am I now," Fenris linked his fingers together around his glass, still watching the mage.

Anders motioned at him, bristling, "Unlike you, I actually do things for other people without Marian twisting my arm. I don't sit in my mansion belabouring the woes of my enslavement - I help people. I do something about it."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself," the elf chuckled darkly.

"I am trying to make this world a better place - the kind of world I want. Which is more than can be said of you," Anders said, pushing his chair back and standing up. He looked to Hawke, "I can't stay here."

Hawke stared as Anders left, her eyes wide. Fenris looked down into his drink, lips in a grim line as Varric gathered the cards. The silence stretched as the cards shuffled together.

"Well?" Fenris asked, his voice hard. "Are we going to play or not?"

Hawke smacked the table and got up, glaring at Fenris as she left to follow Anders.


	40. Cut-throat Intent

Knight-Commander Meredith beckoned to Hawke. Glancing to her companions, she followed the templar into the hall at a slow pace.

"A number of mages have broken out of the Gallows following an incident where a number of phylacteries were destroyed," the Knight-Commander said. "I have not the resources to track them, but you have proven yourself a protector of this city. They must be brought in to avoid incidence and to keep the denizens of Kirkwall from their blood magic."

Hawke bristled before saying, "I will not help you trap more mages within these walls."

Stopping in the atrium at the end of the hall, Meredith turned around, "Then let me be blunt. I have known for some time that you visit your sister, despite the restrictions upon her and the other mages here. You will do this, or she will come under scrutiny – and I do not know the outcome."

A chill settled through Hawke, and her brow drew down in consternation, "She is a picture of what you wish a mage to be. You will not touch her."

'That may be, but I do not have the resources to track these potentially dangerous individuals," Meredith sighed.

"If she has done nothing wrong," Aveline said, taking Hawke's shoulder, "You cannot punish her."

"All that is known is that Bethany has been meeting with someone outside of the allowed visitations," the Knight-Commander said, her voice even and hard. "It does not bode well for any mage to keep obscure associations, even one as exemplary as your sister. Nevermind you, Champion. It is well known that you keep company with a variety of dangerous apostates. Your position is tenuous at best, and your popularity remains your protection. But should it falter, I cannot guarantee what may happen to them."

Hawke bit her tongue till she tasted copper, closing her eyes to lash down the outburst that threatened to reveal itself. Swallowing it away, she looked at Meredith, "Then tell me what I need to appease you."

"Of course, Champion," Meredith replied with firm sweetness. She motioned to the tranquil nearby. "My assistant shall provide you with what you need."

Later as they descended the steps of the Gallows, Varric and Aveline struggled to keep pace with Hawke. When they were on the ferry, she nearly kicked a hole in the hull.

"I try to keep an open mind, but I almost fear Anders has been right," Aveline quietly said, elbows on her knees.

"Don't worry, Hawke," Varric said, leaning in the bow. "Meredith isn't stupid enough to harm Bethany and risk those who back you turning on her. You're the most powerful person in Kirkwall, whether she thinks you are or not. She can't touch you."

Hawke leaned on the gunwale, exhaling sharply through her nose, "But who knows what other peons she has that might touch Bethany. What accidents might occur before she could be saved. What might force their hand to make her tranquil."

"Bethany can handle herself," Aveline said, furrowing her brow.

"It is always the others I worry about," Hawke said, finally sitting down. Brooding eyes on the horizon, she continued, "What other sticky fingers get in the way."

"We should get Blondie," Varric said, lighting a pipe. The movement of the ferry dragged the smoke away and rustled his hair. "Daisy too maybe? Mages to show them we mean no harm."

"I don't think Merrill would come," Aveline tactfully said.

Varric raised his brow and looked at Hawke.

"We are not strictly on speaking terms," Hawke said under her breath, reaching for his pipe. He let her take it, and she drew deep, closing her eyes. The smoke escaped as she spoke, "After what happened with the keeper. Our differing views have made things unpleasant."

"To say the least," Aveline said, crossing her arms.

"A pity," Varric replied, taking up his pipe again. He hummed to himself, watching Hawke.

"I'm going to kill that fucking woman," Hawke said, looking back towards the Gallows.

"Doesn't that seem a bit extreme, Hawke?" Aveline asked, still frowning. "Merrill is… still a good person inside, even if she..."

"Not Merrill," Hawke chuckled, looking back to her friends.

* * *

Anders was nowhere to be seen when Hawke packed her armour at twilight and crept into the street. With her hood up, she moved through the shadows of the setting sun, avoiding the markets and eavesdropping as she could, hurrying to the docks.

Leant against a stack of crates, she watched the ferryman as he waited for the two templars to board. Hawke was in the water without a splash, dragging herself under the dock to work towards the boat. The water was frigid, but it scarce touched the burning core of her anger. She clenched her jaw to keep from chattering, making it to the boat just in time as the ferryman pushed off. Clutching the side, she hugged the curve of the bow to reduce her drag.

Hawke could hear voices from above, but the lap of water against her and the penetrating chill drowned it out. She closed her eyes, her hands locked frigid as she gripped the boat for her life. The passage blurred together, her ears filled with the slosh of seawater and flap of the breeze in the sails.

It was only when the boat jarred and stopped that she opened her eyes. The dark presence of the Gallows stretched above the docks. Prying her hands open, she dropped down into the water, swimming in a crawl under the dock as the templars moved away, and the boat was tied. The sky was overcast, leaving the waters dark as she inched away from the docks and hauled herself onto shore out of sight.

On her hands and knees, Hawke shuddered in the near freezing air.

"Couldn't wait for summer," she murmured to herself, hanging her head. Dropping her satchel, she pulled out her mostly dry leather armour, keeping an eye along the wall for any patrols. She had asked Anders about them – she should have ten minutes at best. The fact he hadn't questioned why she wished to know spoke of the growing distance between them.

Hawke stripped out of her wet clothing, the wind off the sea freezing her dry. Clenching her jaw, she hastily put her armour on, pulling up her hood and gathering the rope, before stashing the nondescript pack under a rock. Creeping along the wall, she prepped the rope, looking up the crack she had identified. Based on her calculations, it should take her into the atrium where she had spoke with Meredith – close enough, at least.

There was movement nearby, and Hawke cringed into the shadows. The templar swung his lamp though, and when the light hit her she held her breath. Unseen, she stepped behind him as he passed, grabbing him around the neck and pulling him on her dagger. The man gurgled, and she whipped him around, jerking his neck with a sick snap. He choked on the ground before she was on him, smashing his head against a rock to silence him.

"Andraste's ass." Panting, Hawke took his lantern and threw it in the water, before looking around. It was still silent. She wiped her hands on her leathers before grunting and rolling him into the water.

It would have to do, she thought.

Readying her rope again, Hawke got it to catch in the crack on the third try, and gave it a tug before shimmying up. She hung there, breathing roughly through her nose before pulling onto the rampart. Moving low to the ground, she crept around a bend, in sight of the courtyard. Perched on the rampart, she pursed her lips and plotted her descent.

"You there!" A shrill whistle followed the call, and Hawke was on her feet, daggers in hand as the pair of templars ran along the wooden rampart. "On your knees!"

Hawke spun and ran the other direction, gripping her daggers as she sprinted the length of the wall. Around the back of the Gallows, she ran smack into a templar, and each floundered before their weapons met.

"Surrender and you will be shown mercy," the man ordered as he parried her stab.

"Like hell you will," Hawke hissed, before slipping beside and kicking him in the knees. The templar fell awkwardly and hit her, arm pinned under her weight. When he jerked to recover, she was knocked back off the ramparts, her short scream accompanying the whistle from the other guards.

The sound cut away when Hawke smacked flat in the shallow water, her left arm dashed against a rock. Pain blossomed as the deluge of seawater enveloped her, losing her dagger in the waves as she choked. Breaking the surface of the water, she panted and coughed, blinded and dizzy as she heard the distant cries of the templars.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" she cursed, grinding her teeth as she touched seabed and pushed off. The tide was rolling in, she might have a chance. She swam into the channel before the arrows sought the water, moving slowly as she cradled her arm. She was bleeding heavily, and the wound was aggravated by the saltwater yet numbed by the cold. Floating on her back, Hawke looked at the sky. The clouds were starting to break and she could see the stars. There was a boat in the distance. Hawke kicked slowly, pushing herself with the current as it urged her towards the City of Chains.

Somehow she avoided capture, washing into an abandoned berth in the docks. Dragging herself from the waves like a waterlogged cat, Hawke collapsed on the wood and shuddered. A meagre slick of blood was left behind as she queasily got to her feet. If she fell asleep now, she'd be a corpse by dawn.

Cradling her arm, Hawke stumbled through the early morn, shivering all the way. The colours of dawn were starting to brighten the sky by the time she smacked into the Hanged Man. Ignoring the few patrons that raised a brow her way, she slogged up the stairs and half collapsed onto the table in Varric's suite.

"Varric," Hawke rasped, shuddering with cold. When she tried to sit up, her numb hand slipped, and she nearly fell. "Varric."

Varric caught her, "I heard you the first time." Easing her into a chair, he more fully closed the lush red robe. "Where the hell have you been, Hawke?"

"I went for a dip," she replied, shuddering and closing her eyes and cradling her arm. Her words slurred together with cold, "Lovely time of year."

"Hey, hey, hey," Varric leant in and smacked her cheek a few times. "Eyes on the chest hair, beautiful."

Hawke's dark eyes opened, unfocused upon him as she said, "Oh good. I rather thought I'd wake up dead." She sucked in through her teeth as she tried to move.

"You're bleeding all over the rug," Varric said, smoothing a hand through his hair as he lit another lamp and closed the door.

"I'll pay for it," Hawke murmured, her head lolling again. "Promise."

"Stay with me, Hawke," Varric said, "You're soaking wet and freezing. And you reek. You have to tell me what you were doing."

"I thought men liked a wet lady," Hawke drawled, leaning her head back against the chair as she looked up at him. "I went to kill the Knight-Commander. I failed."

"Really," he smirked, pulling up a chair and sighing. "What gave you that idea?"

"She might be dead, though not because of me," Hawke defended, cringing visibly again. The last of the colour drained from her features. "I got pushed off the wall of the Gallows."

"Shit," Varric said, shaking his head. "Why didn't you use that passage through Darktown?"

Hawke paused from loosening her cuirass and looked at him, "Fuck, Varric. I can't be expected to remember all these things." She looked at the ceiling, throwing her belt on the floor. "Is it still unguarded?"

Varric laughed, "No, I'm shitting ya."

"Asshole," Hawke muttered, resuming her one-handed undressing. Varric leant forward to loosening some of the straps and she cursed again in pain.

"You know, maybe there's a reason more mages don't escape," he muttered. "Did you think they might make it difficult to get in and out of the Gallows?"

"Shut up and get me something strong," she said, blinking lengthily. When he didn't move, she looked at him, "For my arm. Fuck, Varric, you're enjoying this."

Varric chuckled and moved to his cabinet, retrieving a tinted bottle, "Sorry sweetheart, here you go."

Pulling the cork out with her teeth, Hawke took a few swigs of the bottle before she poured it on her arm. She arched in the chair and swore again, her eyes opening wider. Varric took the bottle away as she writhed in pain. "I need Anders."

"Then I'll get him," Varric said, moving back through his suite to get dressed. "Is he at home? Or the clinic."

"Who fucking knows," Hawke's voice cracked as she started to shiver. She stared blankly at the wall, pain lancing up her arm. "He's been gone again for days. He only tells me half the time, anymore."

Varric put a hand on her shoulder, "Shit..." He sighed and went to kindle the fire, before pushing her chair closer. "Best leave your arm clad."

"I know," she chattered, staring at the fire. "I'm pretty sure it's broken."

"Stay here," Varric said, gathering some bread and water beside her. "I'll track him down."

* * *

"Has she had any potions?" Anders asked as Varric led him through the streets.

"How should I know," the dwarf replied. "I've been looking for you all day. Hopefully she's still alive."

Anders picked up the pace past him, and the dwarf had to hurry to keep up. The Hanged Man was packed, the fires burning hot, and he was upstairs before Varric was in the door.

"You," Anders furrowed his brow and advanced on Merrill. "Maker, I swear if you've used any of your vile ways to help her..."

"I only used rudimentary herbs," Merrill coldly replied. "She's back there, still alive I'll have you know."

Anders pushed past her as Varric walked in.

"Well, he's certainly pleasant," Merrill murmured.

"Thank you for coming, Daisy," Varric gave her a squeeze.

"Oh, anything for you, Varric," the elf thinly smiled.

Meanwhile in the backroom, Anders pulled back the covers from Hawke, touching her cheek to wake her, "Love, open your eyes. Maker, what was she doing letting you sleep!"

Hawke's head rolled on the pillow, eyes dark as she opened them and murmured, "You know me, I don't take no for answer."

"That's for sure," he replied, touching her arm. Hawke hissed awake more, cursing. "I need to look."

"Where have you been?" she croaked, closing her eyes as he unwound the bloody bandages.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Anders furrowed his brow, trying not to move her arm. "It's broken - badly."

"Really, I thought it was a bit scratched maybe," Hawke murmured. "At worst, a little nick."

Anders' eyes clouded as light coalesced around his hand, and the wound was suffused with the glow. Hawke shuddered, feeling her flesh unnaturally moved and knit. She rolled her head to look at him.

"How does that feel," he softly said, opening the satchel on his belt. He took out a poultice and bandages, wrapping the tender skin.

"Less problematic," she said, her eyes still on him. "Where have you been?"

"I won't answer until you tell me how you did this," he frowned at her, leaning over the bed to smooth the bandage. He sat beside her.

Hawke looked away, voice scratchy, "Then I guess we'll never know."


	41. Varric's Version: The Assassination Attempt

**Varric's Version: The Assassination Attempt**

* * *

You may not know it, but our Champion tried to kill the Knight-Commander not once, but three times before the world came crashing down. If nothing else, it could not be said that Hawke gave up easily. She was tenacious and stubborn as a bronto.

The first time, she diverted the effort because a group of children were playing nearby – how could she shed blood and risk their innocence? Meredith never knew how close she had come to death. The second time, Hawke had nearly infiltrated the Gallows when a cave in collapsed the secret tunnel beneath its walls. She barely escaped with her life. But the third is the most memorable of all, taking Hawke within the private quarters of Meredith herself.

It was a frigid autumn day, and as the sun set on the city of chains, the Champion slunk to the docks and smuggled onto a ferry. Clinging to the side of the boat in the near freezing water, she made it to the Gallows without detection, gliding through the shallows as twilight enveloped the channel.

In her efforts to infiltrate the Gallows ironclad defences, she left no fewer than five templars in her wake. Along the outer wall, an unlucky sod found his neck snapped in her nimble grasp, his body shuffled into the bay. Another scarce squeaked as a rope rounded his neck, the line bruising the skin as she choked his life away. She scaled the wall unseen, creeping onto the ramparts and drawing her blade across the throats of the guards. Over the wall they went to join their brethren in the depths, bleeding out into the icy seawater.

Hawke had modified her bow let her mount a hollow arrow and shoot nothing but air, you see. Into the courtyard she crept, the device allowing her to snuff candles from afar, cloaking her path and concealing her egress into the fortress. Down the same contraption flew a dart, the Crow poison stilting the templar's breath and felling another in her way.

Outside the Knight-Commander's offices, her dagger found home once more, spilling templar blood to grant her what she sought. The lamp within flared to life - and revealed nothing. For all her work, Hawke was empty-handed. Scrawling a word of warning, she stabbed the bloodied dagger into Meredith's desk as a whistle from the hall raised the alarm of her trespass.

In a flash, Hawke was back in the hall, the butt of her palm breaking the nose of the templar in her way. Nimble feet carried her back to the courtyard, a clutch of guards on her heels. She scaled the garden trellis, and was almost away when a bolt pierced her sword arm. Cursing, she staggered onto the ramparts and knocked another templar from her path - he fell with a sickening crunch to the garden cobbles below.

The Gallow's night watch pressed closer, and with nowhere else to turn, the Champion hurled herself off the ramparts, plummeting into the waves below. Mangled and bleeding, she kicked through the waves and survived the night, only carried to Kirkwall's shore by the morning tide.

After that night, rumours say Knight-Commander Meredith grew more paranoid by the day. More mages were escaping, and she was losing sleep. But it wasn't the only thing she was losing - though what role the idol played in her descent to madness is a story for another night.


	42. Unbreakable

"I never feel comfortable in here," Hawke murmured as she walked into the chantry with Varric at her side.

"You and me both," the dwarf replied. "That whole, Maker watch over you - you know He's watching you here. I prefer when people don't know what I'm doing."

Hawke chuckled oddly, ignoring the heads that turned as she strode by the candles and the incense. Ascending the steps to where Grand Cleric Elthina was, she hesitated and offered a brief bow.

"Maker's blessing upon you, Champion."

"Ah, yes," Hawke said, offering a taciturn smile adjust the sling her arm was in.

"What may I help you with this morning, child," the woman said, tilting her head. "There is a great weight in your eyes."

Glancing down, Hawke unfolded her arms and quietly said, "Have you reconsidered your position with the mages in the Gallows?"

The Grand Cleric closed her eyes and clasped her hands at her waist with soft sigh, "Orsino and Meredith must work through the challenges they face in one another, lest they never learn from them."

Hawke bristled slightly, frowning as she said, "My sister is in there. You of all people know what they do to mages within those walls."

"I know," Elthina sighed, shaking her head. "I would not wish to be locked within the Gallows. But magic has a greater capacity for abuse more than anything else in this world."

"Really?" Hawke said, keeping her voice near a whisper. "As opposed to the unquestionable power that Meredith and her lackeys wield? What abuses has she perpetrated in her time as Knight-Commander?"

"Meredith has always been a faithful servant of the Maker and His bride," Elthina said, voice as even as ever. She frowned at Hawke, "It is no secret the sympathies you hold for mages, serah - that they are counted amongst your friends is well known by most. You have done a great deal to stir rebellion among them."

"I want them to be treated like human beings," Hawke plaintively said. "To not be killed for existing - their families to not be persecuted just for seeing them. Do you know how rarely I see my sister?"

The Grand Cleric sighed, blinking lengthily, "The city has been troubled since the qunari uprising. I had thought the desire for war satiated."

"It would find order once more if the Chantry removed itself from the seat of power - if you encouraged Meredith to relinquish her command and let the merchants and nobles of this city rule once more." Hawke said, exhaling roughly. "Kirkwall has had more than enough zealotry for a life time."

"You may strive to try my patience, but I know your words are born from love and dedication to our city and her people," Elthina replied. "But I cannot endorse either side."

"Your inaction alone supports Meredith," Hawke said, furrowing her brow. "Just as any man who stands by while another is beaten in the street is negligent in his complacence. Never mind that she answers to you."

The Grand Cleric shook her head, saying under her breath, "You are mistaken, my child. I know the Maker will guide us to a resolution, have faith. Kirkwall will emerge from these troubles into His light once more, but only through experience and growth - not from my forcing any of their hands."

Hawke was about to speak when Anders came up beside her.

"There you are," he oddly chuckled. "Last place I imagined to find you."

"Your soul is troubled, child," Elthina said to Anders, furrowing her brow. "I hope you are able to find a balm for it within these hallowed halls."

Anders tilted his head slightly, taking Hawke's arm, "Indeed."

"We will find peace, Champion," Elthina said as they turned away. "But is anything in this world worthwhile without the hard work to gain it?"

"Then I will work for it, your grace," Hawke replied, and Anders and Varric hesitated as she stopped on the stairs. "Rather than standing by and watching good people be tortured and slain, as you are so wont to do."

When they had made it beyond the doors of the chantry, Varric exhaled and shook his head. "That was pretty ballsy, Hawke. Even for you."

"I know in so many ways that she means well," Hawke said, bridging a hand over her brow. "But she does nothing - does nothing at all, and expects it to make a difference."

"Oh it makes a difference alright," Anders said, the feathers on his coat rustling in the ocean breeze. "It leaves her blind to the truth of those she is charged to guide. A mother who lets her children run rampant, unheeding of what they do and unwilling to punish them for their transgresses."

"I don't know," Hawke sighed as they walked down the stairs.

"She is a naïve fool," Anders said, lips in a grim line. "And Kirkwall and all her mages suffer for it." Rolling his shoulders, he looked down and said, "Thank you, my love. I... I must go to my clinic."

Hawke nodded and watched him go, sighing when he was out of earshot.

"Any idea what you're getting yourself into?" Varric murmured under his breath as they walked more slowly. "Hell, forget yourself - what you're getting us into?"

"Have I ever?" Hawke replied, looking up at the sky. "Yes, let's run from the Blight. Even better, find fortune in the Deep Roads. Or go after some qunari arishok. Didn't they all seem like bright ideas?"

Varric chuckled, "Too true."

"None of this is good. I know none of it is good," Hawke quietly said. "He's hiding things, he has been for months. But he won't tell me... and - and I can't say no to him." She blinked lengthily, "I'd do anything for him."

"That doesn't make you a bad person," Varric said, batting her arm. "Maybe a little blind, but Blondie's got his heart in the right place. We're all a bit crazy, but he won't do anything outlandishly insane."

"I hope not," Hawke sighed, looking down as they walked. "I'm worried about him."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm worried too."

* * *

"See how it heals and drink that," Anders quietly said, his head hanging down. The young man nodded to him, turning to go. "Return in a few days if there is no improvement.

"Yes ser, I will," he replied, sneaking past Hawke into the passages of Darktown. She waited until the healer saw her.

"Hawke – I… hadn't expected to see you here," Anders looked away, and she followed to his private hovel in the back of the clinic.

"Oh?" Hawke quietly replied. "Am I not allowed here anymore lest I have a gaping wound?"

"No, no, of course not," Anders amended, busying his hands.

"But I am Hawke now," she said, clipping her lips together.

"I," Anders stopped and turned, taking one of her hands, "It has been a long day, my love. I meant nothing by it."

"Will you tell me what you did in the chantry?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

"It is nothing you wish to know," he said, still unwilling to meet her eyes. He looked out into the clinic. "But none of it will come back to you. I swear."

"Wouldn't Varric say something like, don't say that, because it obviously will?" she tilted her head, smirking.

Anders squeezed her hands, pulling them up to his lips, "I won't let the work I'm doing affect your life. I would give anything to keep you safe – I would gladly die if I knew it would keep you from harm."

"Don't say that," Hawke softly said, brow knitting further.

Hesitating, Anders looked up to her, "Just… just know that I love you. But some things are more important than my life. Than love."

"You're wrong," Hawke said, tightening her grip on his hands. "Love takes bravery – cowards dare not face it."

Anders absently shook his head, time and fatigue creeping into his features as he looked over her face, "You are the only light in my life. Without you, I fear I would have lost my mind long ago."

"Then come," Hawke's voice cracked, "I need you to tell Varric that, as he constantly says I drive everyone mad."

"I have too much to do," he tiredly said, pulling his hands out of her grasp, unable to meet her eye again.

"Then let me help you," she said with a nervous laugh. "You just need to tell me what, and I'll do it. On my knees or otherwise, mm?"

"I know," Anders said, gathering a poultice together. "You've already helped me more than I deserve."

"Stop this!" she suddenly snapped, and he grew rigid. "Stop talking like this! I don't know what you're doing, but I won't let you push me away! I love you too much for that."

There was a vacancy in his eyes as Anders turned and took her cheek, kissing her lips sweetly. He touched noses with her, and she sighed before he said, "I told you I would break your heart."

"You're not," she whispered, hands on his cheeks. "I swear you're not."

Anders exhaled out of his nose, wrapping his arms around Hawke and burying his face in her hair. A peasant in the clinic called out to him, and for a moment he didn't move.

"You'll be home tonight?" she quietly asked.

"Mm," was all he replied, drawing her from his arms and kissing her forehead. "It's best you go."

* * *

Hawke slouched into Varric's lap, lounging in the curve of his arm as she dangled her legs over the side of his chair. He laughed as she ran a hand through his chest hair.

"Always what the ladies go for," he said, linking his arms around her waist to keep her close. "There's a dwarf underneath all that manliness, you know."

"Ohhhh I know," Hawke sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were heavy with the drink, and dawn was just around the corner. Varric reached for his glass as she said, "It's just impossible to resist."

Smacking his lips, Varric gave her a squeeze, "Won't Blondie get jealous?"

"He knows he can't compare to you," Hawke replied, opening her eyes a crack. "Won't Bianca get jealous?"

Varric scoffed a grin, "She knows you don't compare."

"Ouch," Hawke laughed. "You know, amidst your numerous tall tales, you never tell me that one. All these hints and evasions..."

"I don't' know if it compares to half the shit we've been through, Hawke," Varric replied, blowing some of her hair out of his face.

"For all we've been through, I thought you could tell at least me," she quietly said, settling more comfortably into his lap. Varric turned the flagon on the table, looking over her lap. "I'm half drunk."

"More than half," he murmured.

"So how would I ever even remember what you say well enough to pass it on to anyone," Hawke raised a brow, cheek mushed on his shoulder. "I won't even tell Anders. I promise."

Varric drank the rest of his pint and sighed, "My life's not the story to be told, Champion. I'm content to be fitted into the annals of yours."

"Champion," she quietly murmured. "Even after all these years, it's still odd thinking of myself that way."

"What is this, modesty?" Varic said, smirking as Hawke moved in his arms.

"Just fatigue, I assure you," Hawke replied in a sigh, slouching. "It just seems so easy to find yourself at a point in life, and you've no idea what led you there. And suddenly your breasts are sagging, your dog cannot run anymore for his age, and you've lost the things that were once familiar."

"I'd say they look fine, beautiful," Varric idly grinned as Hawke reached for the cruet, refilling his glass. "And in my experience, no matter what I lose, I'm usually quite good at refilling my pockets."

"Indeed," she quietly said, expression lightening. Linking an arm around his neck, Hawke hauled herself up to kiss his cheek. "Nothing but gold."

Varric grunted, strumming his fingers over her knee as she drank the whiskey straight from the cruet, "You know, this is even early for you, Hawke."

"Hawke mumbled, licking her lips and setting the vessel down on the table, "Would you prefer I trundle home to wallow in a bottle?"

"No," Varric replied, inhaling slowly. "Where's your mage?"

"I don't know," Hawke blurted, looking across the room. "We argue. Some of the things he says... he hasn't been home in nights..."

"Why didn't you come sooner," Varric sat up more, and she almost fell out of his lap. "I thought he'd be back by now. He's been up coast."

"He told you?" Hawke's expression faltered. "Bloody likely he would tell you. He do something for you Bianca can't?"

Varric scoffed, wiping the smile off his face, "No, but I hear things. It's my job. He's alright. Inappropriate of him to treat you this way, but he's alive and out of the templar's hands."

"I miss Bethany," Hawke quietly said, shaking her head. She slipped out of his lap, the stumble in her step only revealed because of how well Varric knew her. "The Gallows are a fortress. Things just get worse. Everything we've done, and there are still things he won't tell me."

"You can't be surprised," Varric said, hoisting his feet up on the table as Hawke paced behind him.

"No," Hawke replied, looking down into the fire. "I knew what I was getting myself into." She gripped the mantle, closing her eyes as she trembled, biting her lip.

"Hawke?"

"He's breaking my heart, Varric," she whispered, looking at the ceiling as she tempered her breath. "He always told me he would, and he is. Why don't I listen to him?"

"I might be proof of your rapture with liars and renegades," he murmured over the lip of his glass. Her shoulders were shaking, and he put it down. "Hey, come back here, beautiful."

Hawke smeared a hand over her eyes as he tugged her back into his lap, slouching in his arms, "Sorry, short stuff. I should act my age. Drinking too much."

"You? Drink too much? Never," Varric scoffed, brushing the hair from her face as she leaned back into his arm with a sigh. "Not in my company, at least."

"Never thought that day outside the merchant's guild that you'd become one of the only stable parts of my life," Hawke murmured, and then snorted.

"Shit, if that isn't commentary on the tumultuous state of Kirkwall, I don't know what is," Varric smirked, and they chuckled together. "Pain is temporary, but purpose is eternal, my lady."

"Should that help?" Hawke slurred, eyes closing as he squeezed her.

Varric quietly said, "He'll be back in your arms in no time. Better?"

"No," she muttered, sniffing in sharply. "Give me your drink."

"Always so demanding," he sighed.


	43. Unravelling

Varric adjusted the modified bolt, stroking down Bianca's bridle as he murmured, "These'll work?"

"Of course they will," Hawke said, closing her eyes with a soft sigh.

"And it's the right location?" he said, hesitating again.

"Oh who knows," Hawke murmured, smirking when he looked at her. "I remember the day when you'd have blown up a warehouse just for fun."

"Yeah, back when we were a little less known - when every two bit and cutthroat in the street didn't know your face," he murmured, lining up the shot. The flask at the head of the bolt sloshed. "The Carta will come down hard on us for this."

"Well then you'll be glad to know I did something else this morning," she waggled her brow, and he put down Bianca again with a sigh. "Let's just say, they'll be quite convinced this was the Coterie's doing."

"You have to stir the shit," Varric murmured, shaking his head.

"There's more than just lyrium in there, Varric," Hawke said. She shifted her weight, "There are shipments from the Divine for the Gallows. From what I've heard, marching orders and measures to deal with the 'mage rebellions' on the rise."

Varric sighed, ignoring her this time as he cocked Bianca, "Just have the other bolts ready. When this flies, we have very little time for our getaway."

"Thank you for your help," Hawke said, crouched beside him.

"Better make it up to me later," he murmured. "I don't know how I get into this shit with you."

"You simply can't resist me," Hawke sighed.

Varric scoffed, "Humans." Bianca snapped, and the bolt shot through the window of the warehouse on the other side of the square, the shattering glass pre-empting the flush of fire. He held out his hand, and Hawke put the other flask-bearing bolt in his hand, and the next two were off in succession, when there was an explosion within the warehouse.

"Shit," Hawke laughed, snagging him by the collar of his jacket as they hauled onto their feet and took off across the rooftops. She tried to backpedal, watching the black plumes of smoke rise into the sky, a malicious delight in her eyes.

"Keep moving," Varric smacked her backside, and they both laughed a bit, holding up as there was another explosion, the force of the shockwave almost knocking them off balance.

"And you say I never take you anywhere fun," Hawke said as they climbed down another level. They fell into the shadow one of the buildings as the whistle from the guard went up. "Can you imagine if Aveline knew the things we do?"

"I think she lives in denial," Varric replied, hugging the wall alongside her. He pointed to a nearby trellis.

"Like a lot of individuals in this lovely city," Hawke said, eyes darkening. They scaled the wall, and were darting through the street when Varric spotted a group of guards.

"They'll recognize you," Varric said, grabbing her wrist. "Down, Hawke."

"I'm not a dog -" Hawke was jerked to her knees, and Varric threw his hood up, pressing her against the wall to quickly kiss her.

The guards hesitated when they came to by the door, and one just scoffed, uttering some word of mixed-breed disgust under his breath. There was another whistle near the docks, and they took off again.

When Varric pulled back, he slipped a bandana from his pocket and tied Hawke's hair to conceal it.

Hawke was still on her knees, the momentary look of surprise fading into something else as she said, "You know, you're better at that than I thought you'd be."

"You doubted me?" Varric replied with a smirk.

"Well," Hawke said as she got to her feet. "It's never seemed like you've had much practise."

Varric scoffed, looking at her before he started to laugh, "Just move your ass, or who knows what other methods of distraction I'll need to employ."

Hawke arched her brow with a twinkle in her eye, "Tempting me to be lazy. Won't Bianca get jealous?"

"Move," he pushed her again, smirking as they ran off down an alley.

* * *

Anders sat on the edge of the bed, his head hanging down as Hawke rolled to fit herself against his back. His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes as her hands worked up his bare back. Her fingers eventually found their way into his hair, loosening the leather tie that kept it back from his face.

"You're so cold," she quietly said, rubbing over his skin.

"It's raining," he replied, eyes still closed.

Hawke sat up and eased him back against the bed, moving to straddle him and lay atop him. Her breasts conformed to his chest, skin warm against his own. Anders gradually sighed and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head into his neck as he shivered.

"I miss you," Hawke whispered, her lips in his neck.

"I know," Anders replied, fingers kneading her back. He clutched her with a defined need as he said, "It will all be over soon."

"And then you and Justice will be free?" she asked against his skin.

Anders fingers dragged over her scalp, and he tightened his grasp on her as he nodded, finally rasping, "Yes."

"I love you either way," Hawke said, sitting up to caress the lines from his brow and mess his hair. "Whether you are or not. This is the man I love. Dependable old me, you know?"

"Thank you," Anders whispered, cupping her cheek and smoothing his thumb over her cheek. "For everything. I cherish every minute with you."

"Hush," she whispered, nipping at the curve of his jaw and nuzzling his stubbly cheek. "Getting far too serious. There are too many dour faces these days."

Hand at the base of her neck, Anders pulled Hawke into his lips, kissing her with bruising need. She responded in kind, hand on the bed beside his head as their lips parted, tongues meshing and testing the other for control. Inhaling through her nose, she tensed in his grasp, hips urging in against his.

Air rushed between them as Hawke arched, their hips grinding together once more as they kissed, and Anders hand gripped her thigh, moving his body with his grasp. She gasped in as their lips parted, closing her eyes as he mouthed her neck, tugging at the skin and tangling his other hand in her hair. They writhed together, and he hardened against the warmth between her thighs.

Eyes closed, Hawke's lips hung open with quickened breaths as Anders pulled her against his loins. She fell into his kiss, exhaling roughly through her nose as they ground with a slow pace, his hand squeezing and kneading the base of her skull with each press.

Breaking the kiss, Anders rested his forehead against hers, their quickened breaths meeting as he gasped, "I love you."

Hawke knotted her fingers in his hair, devouring his lips once more and letting her tongue press with his, rising into the muffled moan of his reply. Anders' hand slipped from her hair, clutching the curve of her side as she shifted her hips, hand between them to guide him against her. Sitting up, she looked down at him through half-opened eyes as she let her weight sink and he filled her.

Fingers sliding up the side of Anders' neck, Hawke leant over him and rocked, grinding their bodies together. She kept his gaze as she rode him, before he pulled her in for a kiss, arm around her waist to gain leverage. The bed buoyed beneath them, creaking with the meter of their thrusts, and Hawke gasped as their lips broke, planting a hand beside his head.

Hovering over him, Hawke met his thrusts, eyes closed as she absorbed his skin, lips falling into his neck with tugging teeth. It brought a groan, and Anders' gripped her tighter to urge her on.

"Give me your touch," Hawke softly panted, a whimper in her words as he met with her, and they were kissing once more, hard, deep pulls that left her wanting for air. "Consume me."

Anders clutched her backside, fingers and palms pressing up her body as they rose together. The sweat on Hawke's body cloyed them together, and she pawed at the covers over his head as he shifted her, leaning up to take her breast in his mouth. When he bit, she jerked from his mouth, her hips drawing hard against him, and she laughed in an inhalation.

Their foreheads touched again as each panted for breath, the smack of skin and tremor of the bed following the increasing pace. Hawke gripped the covers for leverage, her other arm wrapped over the top of Anders' head, scant half-kisses meeting open lips amidst her thrusts atop him.

Fingers around the back of her neck, Anders pinned her close and took Hawke's kiss with a swirl of his tongue, his other hand upon her hip as the need quickened. Stuck body to body, the smack became a frenetic grind, gasping into each other's lips, hair tangled about their faces.

Hawke pulled at the covers, huffing into a hard moan in Anders' mouth as the wave swept her away, unable to escape his grasp. She lost herself, riding as he pinned her hip to thrust, trembling with the relief through her. When both her arms fell slack on either side of his head, he slowed and slipped his arms around her.

Panting out of her nose, Hawke pressed her face into the damp warmth of Anders' neck, listening to his own hard breaths into her hair. He rolled his head, pressing his cheek to hers as they lay there, unwilling to yet move. Slowly, she sunk against him more lazily, hiding in his neck, in the smell of him and the sound of his breath. He touched over her skin, caressing and consuming each inch with his fingers, feeling over the scars and soft dips of musculature.

Finally, Hawke moved and slumped into the curve of his arm, using the dip in his shoulder for a pillow. Anders kept his arms around her, eyes closed as he kneaded her arms, back and waist, lips pressed into her hair. They were quiet some time, the sweat on their skin cooling.

"I am sorry, my love," Anders finally whispered, when Hawke had almost fallen asleep. "Always know how sorry I am."

"You often remind me," Hawke murmured sleepily. "How could I forget?"

"But I truly mean it this time," he whispered.

* * *

"Hawke?" Aveline stood in the doorway, looking a little surprised.

"Aveline, fancy that," Hawke glanced behind her as she murmured. "This is your house? Who knew?"

"Stop being a git and come in," Aveline sighed, moving out of the way as Hawke came in. "You can't fault me for being surprised. It's not like you to just... drop by."

"I try to give you and Donnic your privacy," Hawke said with a false smile.

"What is it - you're starting to worry me," Aveline said, furrowing her brow. "But er, come in, we just finished our supper."

"I'm sorry to intrude, I feel like a bit of an oaf now."

"Serah Hawke," Donnic said from where he sat with his sword. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Likewise," Hawke grinned thinly, and she looked away absently. "You know, Varric's evening games usually start about now. His pockets have gotten too heavy this past week."

Donnic glanced from Hawke to Aveline, and laid his sword aside as she nodded, "I see. Good of you to mention it. I could use a drink."

"Oo that's tempting in and of itself," Hawke replied, shifting on the balls of her feet.

"Don't you worry, serah, we keep a fine enough stock here to wet your whistle," Donnic replied, accepting a kiss from Aveline before turning to gather his coat and leave.

Aveline watched the door, before her eyes returned to where Hawke paced the room. The Champion ran her hand over the mantle, looking at her fingers.

"Impressive, no dust," Hawke casually said. "Three servants, and I can't keep my own house so clean."

"And you've no job to boot," Aveline said, gathering two glasses from the nearby cabinet and pouring some hard liquor. "Now tell me why you're here, Hawke. I doubt it was to inspect my rooms."

"I just want to break my hand on someone's face," Hawke chuckled a little, glancing at her friend. "No, that's not why I'm here."

"That's reassuring," Aveline said, handing her the drink. She offered Hawke a chair and sat down. "Wait, Hawke - what happened to your hand?"

Glancing at her bloodied knuckles before taking a drink, Hawke said, "Ah, someone's face. In the street. You know how some have a penchance for calling us dog lords."

"Hmm," Aveline frowned.

Pacing still, Hawke took a deep drink of the glass, closing her eyes as she steadied her voice, "It's Anders."

"What has he done now?"

"It's so many little things, you know," Hawke said, looking up and blinking rapidly. "I feel ridiculous really. Why did I come here - intruding like this, I should just drown at the Hanged Man."

"Marian," Aveline was up to catch Hawke's arm, furrowing her brow. "Stop. We're family."

"I know," Hawke looked down, exhaling before she finished the drink and gave it back to Aveline. The guard-captain switched glasses with her.

"Sit a while at least, since you've chased Donnic off," Aveline said, and they both took a chair this time.

Letting the liquor warm her a bit, Hawke finally looked at her friend instead of the fire, "You may not know it, but having children's something I wanted to do."

"Most of us are like that," Aveline lightly said, tapping her thumb on the rim of her glass.

"You and Donnic - ?"

"Of course, Hawke," Aveline sighed, shaking her head. "What woman wouldn't want to provide him with a few children. He's a good man and husband - he'd be a good father."

"You're right," Hawke said, taking another deep drink. "He would be. I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you," Aveline quietly said, looking at her again. "But this isn't about me."

"He's been doing things," Hawke blurted, smoothing a hand over her lips as she closed her eyes. "He's a Warden, he's said it's hard enough for them to... to conceive, you know, but then we were talking earlier... and he gave his cat away, his things are disappearing from the house..."

"What has he been doing?" Aveline asked, her voice hardening to guard-captain.

"Keep the law out of this," Hawke said, her voice wavering again. She shielded her eyes, watching the fire again before finishing the glass. She'd be plastered soon enough. "He's been using methods to prevent me from conceiving. He said it was best when I brought it up."

"Flames," Aveline sighed, sinking more heavily into her chair. "I - I'm sorry, Marian. I had no idea."

"Who would, really," Hawke chuckled darkly, her words growing more lubricated. "I'm not really the motherly type, or a home body or anything. But I love him, and like you said, what woman wouldn't want his children."

Aveline pressed her lips closed, unable to look at Hawke.

"I don't care what others think," Hawke added.

"That much has always been apparent," Aveline replied with a chuckle.

"I know the way you act about mages, how everyone does, but I don't care about any of that," Hawke's voice wavered again, and she cursed quietly under her breath. Her hand fell on her pocket, where her mother's amulet was wrapped in silk. "And I gave him something. Something that means a great deal to me, and he gave it back tonight. He apologizes so much - he... there's so much going on, Aveline, and I can't tell you any of it." She covered her eyes again.

"What does Varric say," she asked.

Hawke lifted her head, looking away to smear the butt of her palm over her eyes, "He doesn't know about this latest development. I - I came here."

"I'm touched," Aveline said, inhaling deeply as she stood up and took Hawke's glass to refill it.

Hawke sat with her hand over her mouth as she blinked her eyes dry. When the whiskey was back in her hand, she murmured, "Thank you."

Aveline nodded and pulled her chair closer to sit right beside her, "Love is not without trials. It may seem perfect, but Donnic and I have our differences. We argue, I imagine anyone does."

"I bet you always win," Hawke smiled.

Chuckling, Aveline said, "I'd like to think so... but it's probably equal. Anders loves you a great deal. That has always been apparent. And he's been happier these years. Do you remember what he used to be like? He never used to smile at all. But with you, he does." She sighed before saying, "And you've been happy. I know I couldn't always be there after what happened to your mother. But he was more than any of us."

Hawke looked down at the fire once more, straining with the tightness in her throat. Slowly she said, "Did you mean it? That we're family?"

"You fit the definition of family, perfectly, Marian," Aveline sighed, sipping her drink with proper temperance. "I couldn't choose you, you're a pain in the ass half the time, but I love you and would do anything for you just the same."

"Thank you." Unable to hide a grin, Hawke reached to take Aveline's hand, "I feel exactly the same way."

"Cheers," Aveline smirked and shook her head, and they both took another sip.


	44. Hurricane

Hawke strode through the square towards her house, ignoring her mabari as he loped and cajoled around her legs. Despite his age, the hound still had the temperament of a pup most days - especially if she were in a dour mood. He snagged the stray tail of her belt and gave it a tug, almost pulling her off balance.

"Your grace, no," Hawke said, her hair pulling free of the simple net that held it. The breezes from the sea were cool today, even if the sun was hot. A summer storm was easily brewing. "Not now."

The mabari whimpered and plunked his backside down, before trotting ahead of her to open the door to the house and let them in. Hawke was in the alcove when a young boy sprinted from the markets.

"Messere Hawke!" he cried out, and she stopped in the doorway.

"Argyle," she replied, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was one of the covert messengers who ran for her and the First Enchanter, and was obviously out of breath. "Come inside, are you alright?"

"It's Meredith, messere," he said, following her as he panted for breath, moving on jelly legs. He pulled the sealed scroll from his coat. "Orsino bade me run here as quick as I could."

Hawke cocked her head, snapping open the wax seal to read the missive, and her expression paled as she said, "What is going on?"

"He's gathered the enchanters, they're marching to the chantry in protest," Argyle breathlessly said. He accepted the drink she offered as they walked into the main hall. Downing it, he closed his eyes, "The Knight-Commander ordered a lockdown, but they weren't able to keep the mages from assembling. She wanted every inch of the Gallows searched, serah."

"You risked a great deal bringing this to me," she quietly said, producing a sovereign for the boy.

Argye palmed it, flushed as he said, "They killed my mum, the templars are no friend of mine."

Hawke ruffled his hair and sighed, looking at the letter again as she thought. "They are going to the chantry?"

"Yes, messere," the boy replied. "To petition the grand cleric en masse."

"What's going on?" They both turned as Anders appeared at the railing upstairs.

"Meredith is trying a few new tricks," Hawke replied, holding the letter out for him as he came down. "In very poor taste."

"I just barely made it ahead of them, serah," Argyle said, straightening his posture. "They are marching up - though it seemed as though the Knight-Commander thought to head them off."

Gathering another gold coin from her pouch, Hawke pressed it into his hand, "Wait a moment, I'll have other runs for you."

"We have to go to them," Anders said, a tremor in his voice. "We cannot let Meredith take control anymore than she already has."

"That is the plan," Hawke replied as she bent over the desk, quill flecking. She inked the stamp of her family crest and pressed it on the successive notes.

"The grand cleric won't do anything," Anders said, his voice gaining strength. "She doesn't care about what happens to the mages. She'd rather turn a blind eye than deal with any real problems."

Fanning the parchment to dry the ink, Hawke walked back and thrust them into Argyle's grasp, "The guard, the next district in Hightown, and the Hanged Man. Guard-captain Aveline, Fenris, and Varric Tethras in that order. You know them?"

Slipping the missives in his coat, Argyle nodded and said, "Aye, serah. I will make haste." He was out the door without a word more.

"We should prepare for anything," Anders said, turning to the chest by the fire to gather up their satchels as she watched. "They've taken a great risk, but there is no way Meredith or the grand cleric will be able to stop this."

"As soon as we're ready," she said, still scratching her mabari's head. "I wrote for them to meet us at the stairs to Hightown. It's central."

"A good choice," Anders replied, and she slung the satchel around her back, clipping it to her belt. Hesitating, he cupped her cheek and kissed her. "I love you. Never forget that."

Hawke nodded and frowned.

* * *

Fenris was waiting outside when Hawke and Anders made it into the streets, and he hesitated as the pair caught up. "What is going on?"

"A hurricane," Anders said.

"Meredith and Orsino are butting heads in a public display. I thought you might enjoy the show," Hawke murmured in reply.

Fenris frowned, "This will not bode well."

"We'll see," she said with a tight smile. Hawke waved to the troupe of guards nearby. "Aveline."

"I expect details, Hawke," Aveline said, before issuing orders to her men.

"Then by all means, let us go find them," Hawke replied.

They hurried down through the markets, rounding towards the steps to Lowtown. At the base, a segregated crowd was visible, and they picked up their pace. Sebastian stood at the Knight-Commander's side, calm voice unintelligible as he situated himself between the two leaders. As they came closer, Orsino raised his hands in frustration, the mages behind him bristling.

"There is no just cause for any of this, Meredith," the First Enchanter said. "No matter what happens, no matter what we do to appease you, all you see is blood magic. When will you stop seeing evil in every corner?"

"When it is no longer there to find," she snapped, maintaining her posture. "It is my Maker-sworn duty to protect this city and her people from the corruption of magic. Neither you nor anyone may keep me from that task. I will protect you and every mage from themselves, and the public from you in turn."

"Hawke," Varric said under his breath, approaching with Merrill. "Can't say I'm glad to get a note like that from you. Good call on meeting here, though."

"Champion," Orsino turned, and at his shoulder Bethany's expression lightened. "Finally, a voice of reason amidst the madness."

"I had rather thought this more of a spectator sport," Hawke said, pace slowing as she approached.

Orsino shook his head, "Meredith is demanding every mage open their quarters and selves to her search. We are Harrowed mages - we have proved our resilience and strength, and we will brook no further tyranny."

"The mage threat in Kirkwall has only grown these years, thus I must rout out where the true causes lie," Knigth-Commander Meredith replied, her templars jostling behind her. "Stand down and return to the Gallows to submit to our search. Return now, and so long as you are found free of corruption, no harm shall come to you."

"Please," Hawke said, raising a hand.

"Harm? Harm," Orsino replied, bristling. "We deserve the right to some semblance of life, not be treated like caged animals! Our lives have become nothing but harm!"

"Do not trifle with me, mage," Meredith narrowed her eyes. "My patience is at an end. You have no place in these affairs, Champion."

"I called her here," Orsino said, crossing his arms. "The people have to see what you are doing - what is happening to Kirkwall because of you."

"What I have done is protect her and your kind from their own stupidity!"

"You cannot keep treating mages this way, Meredith," Hawke said, shaking her head. "When does it end? It must stop."

"I cannot look the other way - I will not. Not when innocents still suffer at the hands of blood magic," Meredith replied, her expression softening. "Tell me, Champion, that you have not seen it with your own eyes - that your mother did not suffer at their hands."

Hawke twitched and tightened her hand into a fist, "You cannot condemn them all for the actions of the few."

"You would cast us all as villains, but it is not so," Orsino said, taking Hawke's side.

Knight-Commander Meredith closed her eyes, sighing as she said, "I know. And it breaks my heart to do it - but what other choice do we have? If you cannot tell me a better way, do not brand me a tyrant."

"This is getting us nowhere!" Orsino waved his hands in frustration, rallying the mages to the stairs. "Grand Cleric Elthina will sort this out."

Meredith caught his arm, "You will not bring her Grace into this."

"The grand cleric cannot help you," Anders said, and all eyes turned as he approached. He rapped his staff on the ground. "I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals, while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailers."

"How dare you speak to me -"

"The Circle has failed us, Orsino!" Anders said, his staff hitting the ground once more as an unnatural light took his eyes. Hairline fractures of blue enveloped him, his voice breaking deeply between octaves. "Even you should be able to see that! The time has come to act." He looked away, the dark mists seeping from his skin as his voice weakened, "There can be no half-measures."

"Anders," Hawke turned after him. "What have you done?"

Faint tremors shook the ground underfoot as he replied, "There can be no turning back."

Hawke looked around as they were thrown off balance, the rumble within the city beginning to grow. The banners overhead cracked off the stone, the market stalls crumbling as the mages and templars struggled to maintain their footing. It was then the sky burst with brilliant fire, and Varric smacked her hip, their heads turning to the upper city.

A whirling pillar of blinding ruby light shot to the heavens, and the ground heaved as the air filled with the grind and rent of metal and stone. The visible upper towers of the chantry were filled with the light, and the explosion deafened them as rock fractured, tearing the fabric of the Veil. A vortex in the sky pulled at the magical light, the rock and clouds too, and wind pulsed through the streets towards the apex as windows burst. The keening scream shattered, sending a shockwave through Hightown as fire and stone rained across the city. The chantry was obliterated.

"Maker have mercy," Meredith whispered, hunched with her eyes skyward. Around them, many struggled to their feet, the sounds of panic already rising in the distance. Rubble burnt along the steps, and the eaves of adjacent houses were aflame, the skyline silhouetted by the unnatural red glow in the sky.

"No!" Sebastian was partway up the steps, scanning the familiar spires of his home. He crumpled to the ground, "Maker, no! She was your most beloved!"

"Anders," Bethany said, the word trembling.

"There can be no peace," Anders whispered, crestfallen as he met Hawke's eyes.

"Why?" Orsino demanded, advancing closer. "Why would you do this!"

"I removed the chance of compromise, because there is no compromise," Anders replied, his voice wavering.

"The grand cleric slain by magic. The chantry destroyed," Meredith said, her voice growing more resolute. "There can be only one end."

"No," Orsino turned to her, clenching fists. "Not for the actions of one man!"

"The good people of Kirkwall will demand it," Meredith snapped, glancing to her templars as she raised her voice. "We must remain vigilant. As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment - may the blessed Andraste guide us all. Every mage within the Circle is to be executed - immediately."

"The Circle played no part in this!" Bethany said, taking Orsino's side. "You can't do this. Marian - please, you can't let her do this!"

"I am bound to this resolution," Meredith replied, directing her gaze to Hawke. "And I demand you stand by my orders through this, Champion. Even you must see the injustice done."

For once Hawke didn't laugh. There were no snide words or puns to be found. She stood with her heartbeat in her ears, eyes upon the man she loved. "This... this was what you needed my help with."

Rising from his place on the steps, Sebastian strode towards them, flanked by the pillaring smoke pouring into the sky from the city's most recent scar. "You - you had a part in this?"

"You couldn't know what I was doing." The weight that had plagued Anders eyes for so long finally captured the rest of his features as he said, "I couldn't take the chance you would be honour bound to stop me. The world needs to see the injustices of the Circle, not just here in Kirkwall."

"Elthina had nothing to do with the Circle," Sebastian spat, edging closer as he shook his head. "And you murdered her."

"You've doomed us all," Orsino said.

"We must die on our feet - a quick death now, or a slow one later," Anders stood resolute, looking amongst them. "And I would rather die fighting."

"I cannot be party to such slaughter," Hawke finally said to Meredith, struggling to find strength in her words. "I will not abandon those who need me most."

"Thank the Maker," Orsino clasped his hands.

"I cannot follow you down this path, Hawke," Fenris shook his head, hefting his sword free as he fell back amongst the templars. "To defend all these mages have done."

"I believe in you," Merrill said. "You're doing the right thing."

"Surprising me yet," Hawke half-chuckled, expression sagged as Fenris turned his back.

"You have chosen poorly this day," Meredith said, stepping closer to Hawke. "You shall suffer the mages' fate." She turned back to her men, weapon drawn, "Kill them all! I will rouse the rest of the Order!"

As the templars drew steel, Orsino turned to the mages, "Get to the Gallows! Tell them what comes, before it is too late!"

The templars launched at them, and a sudden burst of light brought down the heavens. The air whorled with lightening and fire, and Hawke staggered to get her blades, diving into a cart to avoid the magical maelstrom. The energy leapt up the templars' heavy armour, their screams joining together as Varric cocked Bianca and let fly a torrent of bolts. She could scarce keep track of the mash of bodies, when she saw Anders raise his hands, a defensive aura shimmering to life around him to stop one of Sebastian's arrows.

The templars left were no match for the clutch of experienced magi, and soon they were dead and scattered. Hawke wiped her blades on her thighs as she panted, the city a cacophony of turmoil around them. Sebastian struggled free of Aveline's grasp, stalking by the stairs with catlike predation.

"What are you waiting for," Sebastian spat, gripping his grandfather's bow. "Why is he still alive?"

"We must go," Orsino said to Bethany, waiting as she ran to her sister. "If you stand with us, Champion, make it to the Gallows."

"I knew you wouldn't abandon us."

"I would never abandon you, Bethany," Hawke replied, and they briefly touched hands, before the pair hurried after the other mages. Her friends lingered nearby, bloodied and stunned. Her gaze invariably drew to where Anders had collapsed upon a merchant's crate.

The moment seemed to slow into a silence of disbelief, despite how the fires raged - despite the scathing demands Sebastian issued - and Hawke walked up behind Anders. His shoulders were hunched, and he swayed a little like a child. He was in as much shock as the rest of them, a fear of inevitability that cowed him forward. The sky was darkening with smoke, but it didn't keep Hawke's shadow from falling across him.

"I know there is nothing I can say to make up for what I've done," Anders said, rocking again slightly. "I took a spirit into my soul and forever changed who I was. This is the justice all mages have awaited - I don't expect you to understand."

Hawke put her hands on her hips, closing her eyes as she looked down through Lowtown. It was a moment before she whispered, "I might have understood if you'd trusted me."

"You condone this? And what if I had been in the chantry," Sebastian said, shouldering his bow as he came towards her. "If I had been one of the people he murdered? Would you stay your hand this way?"

"The world isn't black and white like that," Hawke replied, and before she could say more he continued.

"Either I am granted justice through his death for what he has done, or I will go to Starkhaven to reclaim what is mine, and return with an army so great, that no one in Kirkwall will save you."

"I won't let you kill him," Hawke said, stepping between them.

"Nor will I fight you," Sebastian said, staring Hawke down. "But I will find you and your precious Anders, this I swear." He turned to leave, hesitating as his voice tempered quiet, "What would your mother think? Maker rest her soul."

Hawke watched him stalk off as Aveline, Varric and Merrill stared at her. Her chin dropped down, and she heard Anders shudder as she whispered, "She would tell me there is nothing more important than love."

"You're almost as insane as he is," Varric muttered. "A perfect match."

"I wanted to tell you," Anders whispered, and Hawke looked back. "I couldn't risk it. The world needs this to see - it needs this to change. We can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution," he quietly said, leant onto his knees.

Anders shook his head, "I couldn't let you pay for this in any way. It was my choice. If I have to die because of it, so be it. They will see that we can be free."

Hawke tightened her jaw, closing her eyes as she laid a hand on his back, and he trembled beneath it. "All this while I thought I was protecting you... and you were trying to protect me."

"I think I failed that too," he whispered.

"No," Hawke replied, and her voice cracked as she dragged her fingers through the feathers on his shoulder. "A no uttered with the greatest conviction is better than a yes for appeasement. Suffering to avoid trouble... but this isn't the time." She drew a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Help me defend the mages."


	45. Defiance

They stood side by side at the front of the boat, fording through the mist that hung over the bay. Behind them, smoke rose in the distance from the smouldering pile of the chantry. Aveline and Merrill sat by Varric to steer the boat across the calm water. Echoes of fighting reached them from the city, flashes of light snapping here and there amidst the labyrinth of streets.

"I didn't know what would happen after," Anders quietly said, face into the wind. There was an odd serenity to his features. "I - I didn't hope that you would let me live. Not that you would kill me... that others would. I had accepted that."

Hawke gradually looked to him from where she stared across the water, "Things make a lot more sense now."

"I suppose," he replied, shifting as the boat swayed beneath them. There were others crossing the water behind them. "This still doesn't quite feel real."

"You can say that again," Hawke said, looking at the Gallows once more. There were shadows in her features. Water slapped against the hull and the sails rippled, and another explosion echoed off the cliffs. "You and Justice will always be together, won't you?"

"Yes. At least while I'm alive," he quietly said, looking down as he sat again. Hunched on his knees, Anders clasped his hands together.

Features drawn, Hawke sank down beside him, slipping her hand into his. He tightened the grip, squeezing and looking at her as she said, "I broke my arm trying to kill Meredith. Needless to say, it didn't go well." She looked at their hands, voice wavering, "Many things have... gone unsaid these months."

"I wouldn't know where to start," Anders said, and he almost laughed in disbelief. "I've been in contact with the other Circles. With other free mages - with people who wanted change. Their eyes have been on Kirkwall as much as the Chantry's."

Hawke absently nodded, still looking at their linked hands.

"I couldn't tell you," he quietly said, shaking his head. "I couldn't let you shoulder any of it. I knew you would."

"Because I want to," she replied, gripping his hand tight and drawing his gaze. "You aren't a burden to me. This is terrible - I won't deny that. But I've done a lot of terrible things too. My hands aren't clean."

"You're a good person, Marian," Anders replied, still absently shaking his head. "You've helped a lot of people."

"And I've killed a lot of people," Hawke narrowed her eyes a bit. "I make no illusion of that. And I've probably done it for reasons a lot less worthy than this. My father once told me, be the change you want to see in the world. And you are."

"I won't hide from you anymore," he said with a deep sigh, looking at their hands before bringing her knuckles to her lips. "I promise."

Hawke nodded and let go of his hand, standing up as they approached the docks of the Gallows, "That is all fine and dandy, but let's try and survive the day. You can kiss my ass to make up for all of this when we're not eminently sure to die a gruesome, painful death."

"And here I was worried for a moment with how serious you were getting," Anders chuckled sadly, sitting as she took to the bow and snagged the rope there.

"Yes, well if I stay serious too long, I may actually think about what we're doing - and we don't want that," Hawke said, before leaping onto the dock and pulling the boat snug to lash it down. "We have very little time before Meredith lands with the bulk of the templars. We need to find Orsino and my sister, and prepare or evacuate the mages to the best of our ability."

"You really try loyalty, do you know that, Hawke?" Aveline said as she shouldered her sword.

They ran up the docks towards the Gallows, past the bodies of templars and mage alike that littered the steps. The front gate was broken open, and the stones were charred in various blast patterns. There was fighting ahead, and the blossom of fire let them track to Orsino.

"Champion! You made it," the elf said as the flames engulfing his hands died. Bethany took off from his side to embrace Hawke, and the sisters moved together up the steps to him.

"With bells on, I assure you," Hawke replied. "Have you made much progress inside?"

"It has been a trial," Orsino replied, features fatigued. "We were able to smuggle a boat of the children out with guardians. I only pray that the Knight-Commander doesn't track them."

"And the rest of them?"

"We don't know all the details," Bethany chipped in, other mages joining with them as they advanced towards the inner courtyard. "It has been to our advantage that most of the templars here do not yet know what she has ordered."

"They will kill the apprentices?" Aveline asked, furrowing her brow.

"That is what the Right of Annulment means," Orsino coldly said. "Every mage within the Circle, young and small. They spare no sympathies just because a mage is young."

"But they are no doubt innocent," Aveline interjected, and they stopped.

"Are not the rest of us?" Orsino said, stepping closer to Anders. "This is on your hands. We might have found a better resolution..."

"Please," Bethany said, taking his arm. "Meredith would not have listened. She is beyond reason. We are being given the chance to use our Maker granted gifts to find freedom."

"I don't know if there would have been an easier path in hindsight," Orsino said, touching Bethany's hand. "We will do all we can."

"Champion!" The call came up from the public courtyard, and they turned from their place atop the stairs. Hawke advanced back down the steps, able to see where Meredith stood, a troop of templars at her heel. Fenris was by her side, hair stained with blood. "Turn from this path, and you will yet be spared."

Hawke shook her head, coming further as she said, "You cannot ask me to do that... Fenris... Fenris how could you?"

"You and I have rarely seen eye to eye, Hawke," Fenris called back with a jerk of his chin. "You would have me defend mages in this hopeless fight?"

"I would have you fight by my side because of all we have been through," Hawke said, jerking her dagger in the air. "Because I thought we were friends. Are you going to kill me? Or Varric and Aveline?"

The elf bristled by Meredith's side, testing the weight of his sword as he rolled his muscles, "I... I cannot abandon my friends."

"Then you share in their fate!" Meredith called as he took off up the stairs.

Hawke grabbed Fenris' arm as they ran into the Gallows, scarce hearing Meredith's orders as Orsino manipulated the Fade and brought down the gate behind them. "See, it's not so terrible."

"That remains yet to be seen," Fenris replied, moving to help slide the bolts across the gate with Aveline. It took four of them to barricade it.

"Thank you," Anders said.

"I'm not doing it for you," Fenris replied, crossing his arms as they had a moment's breathing room. "What is the plan?"

"We must evacuate as many of the mages as possible. The children are our priority," Bethany said, leading them deeper into the prison. "Most have been taken down into the caverns."

"And if the templars break through the gates we'll all be pigeonholed in a tunnel underground," Varric murmured. "Lovely."

"It was my hope you would be willing to stand with myself and the senior enchanters," Orsino said, leading them into the inner courtyard where a mass of mages and a few templars were. "They have agreed to help our people escape."

"Keran," Hawke said with a nod. "I'm glad to see you on the right side."

"Thank you, serah," he said, looking down as a young girl hide behind him. "It's alright, Daliah, they're here to help you go somewhere safe."

"You're the Champion," the little girl replied.

Hawke smiled and knelt down, "Yes. I bet you know my sister, Bethany. She probably didn't let you get into any trouble at all." Daliah nodded. "I promise we won't let anyone hurt you. It'll be an adventure, you'll see."

"I'll be coming, don't you worry. Go with Ser Shelly," Keran gave the girl a light push, and she hurried off to where a female templar was counting and directing them. Daliah looked once more before she disappeared through the doorway. "Her parents died trying to keep us from taking her. She... she doesn't know."

"Keep focused," Orsino said, taking his shoulder. "Ensure a mage for every child, in case we get separated, they will have someone to look out for them."

"Of course, serah," Keran said.

"And what of your phylcateries," Hawke said, and the mages all looked at her. "What? Bethany, you mentioned them every time I wanted to break you out. Are you so surprised I finally caught on?"

Another templar with them shifted uncomfortably, before saying, "The Commander moved them."

"Do you know where they are?" Anders asked, stepping closer to the man as he hesitated. "You have come this far to help us, do you think they will show you mercy for standing against Meredith's will?"

"I..."

Hawke took Anders's arm as a fracture of light lined his eyes, "You just need show us. Then return to the children. Varric?"

"Seems the least I can do," he said with a sigh, motioning with his chin for Merrill to follow.

"Wouldn't the least be nothing?" she asked.

"Just follow me, Daisy." he sighed, and they disappeared with the mage down an adjacent corridor.

"My kin," Orsino said, clasping his hands together and drawing their attention. "They would have you lay down your lives for what you are - for the gifts you were born with. But they cannot take us all, and you will escape. Find others, the Circles must know what has happened here - and that there is more to life." The silence hung a moment before people hurried back to their duties, a flurry of activity creating a hum in the air as they gathered supplies. "Take a moment, the gates are holding. But we don't have long before we go to cover their escape."

Hawke stayed on her feet, pacing with her arms crossed as the mages gathered what they could to flee. She stood within sight of the gate, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Bethany moved amidst their friends, checking for injuries before going to assist the evacuation.

"I don't like being here," Hawke quietly said.

"Imagine living your life here?" Anders replied, and she turned as he came close.

"I'd rather not," she whispered, staring at the gates again. Her body ached from injury and fatigue, but if she stopped moving... it wasn't an option. There were distant sounds of metal, and the building shook a bit. They stood in silence for a while, scarce noticing as Varric returned with Merrill.

Anders tentatively put a hand on her back, "Thank you for believing in me. Even if I couldn't."

Hawke turned around to him, wiping some of the blood from his stubble, "Varric makes me the hero in all his stories, but I think it's really you. I'm just the woman who loves you."

"The champion who loves me," Anders replied, holding her hand against his cheek. He looked over her face, "If we survive this, I'll be hunted - they'll be nowhere in Kirkwall to find safe harbour."

"A willing sacrifice," Hawke quietly said, smirking. "Fugitives together."

"You mean that. You really do."

"I always have, silly man," Hawke said, expression softening. "It's for the world you want - the world we want."

"A world where our children can be mages and be free... ten years from now - a hundred years - someone like you will love someone like me, and there will be no templars to tear them apart," Anders whispered, exhaling as their foreheads touched.

"Lovelier than the Golden City itself," Hawke replied, resting her eyes briefly. Another thud rang through the Gallows, and more screams rose from the second wing. A mage came running, nearly smack into Orsino.

"They've broken through the secondary gate, First Enchanter," the young man tried to compose himself. "We could not hold them."

"Then we will," Hawke turned to them, beckoning to her friends. "Remember this night when you feel the sun on your face and the hills stretch before you - get out while you can."

"Go," Orsino said, and the remaining templars left with a few more mages, disappearing into the tunnels. He trembled a bit, but Bethany squeezed his hand as he led them down the corridor. Bodies littered the passage, and his footsteps faltered. "They've cut to the front. They... they just killed them all."

"Don't," Bethany said, urging them on as the other enchanters hesitated.

"Those bastards," Orsino hissed, before leading them through a side door, across a blood strewn and burning library to emerge into a secondary courtyard full of templars. "You will not have us!"

A flask snapped from Hawke's waist, before she ran into the fray with Fenris and Aveline on her wings. The heavily armoured men and women floundered as fire licked beneath the metal, and the Champion let her dagger sink home, warm blood on her hands. The confined space lit with fire and ice, the air keening as a mage fluttered into a swarm of wasps and engulfed a templar.

Hawke spun to slice the link of a templar's armour as she darted out of his way, the fabric ripping and founting blood. He screamed and whipped her with his shield, knocking her back over a bench. A ball of fire smacked into him from the periphery, the ephemeral form cracking his armour as another bolt of arcane energy shot him. Lithe on her feet, Hawke fell upon him to finish the deed, only to roll up to kick another templar advancing on her.

"Champion!" Orsino called, drawing her attention as the mages fell down another hallway.

Disembowelling the templar, Hawke trembled and sprinted after them. More templars were advancing upon them, and she had to avoid the dead beneath them. She took an arrow as she stumbled through, falling against the door with Fenris to hold it shut. He snapped off the shaft as she panted, and they leant their weight into it as the templars hit. Aveline and a pair of mages threw their weight behind the door, and Hawke ripped a curtain down, tearing off the cloth before jamming the rod into the handles.

"Go," she said, flanking them as they darted through to another training hall. Orsino had stopped, and she ran into Varric and Anders, weakening as she bled. The room was filled with dead mages, young and old alike.

"They should have gotten out," Orsino strained, eyes dilated from the mana strain.

"We cannot help them," Bethany said, choking on her words. "They're coming."

"Why do they even bother," he said, despair creeping into his words. "Why don't they just drown us at birth."

"Don't say that," Bethany whispered, and he scarce heeded as she pulled away, the doors breaking as the templars made it through. "The others will make it. We draw the templars away so they can."

Flames took up the tapestries, and paintings on the wall curled and turned to ash from the fires that burst to life to block their way. Seeing them held back, Hawke stumbled and dug her talon-armoured fingers into the arrow, pulling it out with a cry. A healing light followed it, and she panted softly as she herded the mages further from the templars, another trio of arrows seeking across the room.

"Where, sister," Hawke said, flexing her fingers on her daggers. "We must lead them back out."

Another arrow flew, and a mage beside Bethany cried out as he staggered back, gurgling on the sudden fluid. It was then the fires died, and the templars pressed once more. In the crush of bodies and blossoms of magical light, Orsino's words went unheard. When the chamber trembled, Hawke leapt back, finding footing as others floundered, their movements cast in a blooded glow.

Varric caught Bethany as she screamed, pulling her to the wall as the elven man was enveloped in the bodies of their fallen kin. He scarce held her as she crumpled and broke, aghast at the creature Orsino became.


	46. The Aftermath

Hawke flew when the swinging arm of the animated statue hit her, armour scraping as she skidded across the courtyard of the Gallows. She staggered to her feet and a wash of healing magic coursed through her. She scarce had a moment to wipe the blood from her lips when Meredith found her again.

"By His righteous hand, you will pay for all they have done - each innocent who has suffered from their curse," Meredith cried, glancing blades with Hawke before a burst of energy radiated from her limbs and sent the rogue back a few feet. "In this - in this, my Maker, guide me!"

There was the clatter of metal as one of the reanimate slave statues tumbled to the ground, stiff and unmoving once more. The flash of magic arced over the square, lightning enrobing another statue as it spun to deflect the swords that sought it.

A crackle of red light lanced off Meredith's blade as Hawke deflected the swipe, rolling sideways to plant her hand and kick the Knight-Commander's leg. The lady templar turned and caught Hawke with the pommel of her corrupt sword, and the energies within it frizzled over her limbs. In their periphery, more of the statues clunked to the ground, half-frozen and swarmed with corrosive clouds.

"No - no it cannot be!" Meredith plead to the sky as Hawke hit her again. She clutched the ragged edge of her side where the dagger wound ripped wider, stumbling back. Frayed crackles of ruby light fractured over her form. "Give me the strength!"

A blossom of frigid air lit at Meredith's feet, and she broke through the ice threatening to slow her in time to deflect Hawke once more. The Champion was unrelenting, and kicked her back, her companions turning as the last of the statues lost the magic sustaining them.

"I will not be defeated!" Meredith cried. The unnatural light in her eyes grew as she faltered. The glow rose from beneath her armour, skin luminous and golden hair spattered with blood. She turned her eyeless gaze to Hawke, shaking her head.

Tremors vibrated through the ground as Meredith raised her idolized sword looked to the heavens, tainted light seeping through the creases of her armor as the fire consumed her eyes. Light siphoned towards her, the ground darkening at her feet, and the energy ascended the wide, corrupt blade. "Maker! Aid your humble servant!"

Clasping her hands on the hilt, a pulse of energy rose through Meredith's limbs, and the red glowing sword suddenly exploded, sending her and Hawke staggering. A vortex of power pulled in its place, a miasma enveloping her limbs and drawing a curdling scream. The light intensified, sucking from her very essence and the Knight-Commander crumpled to her knees, reaching for what was no longer there.

The woman's scream pitched higher, and Hawke shielded herself as the light grew. The ephemeral fire holding back the templar guards evaporated, and Meredith pawed at herself, trying to keep the evaporative mist within. The Knight-Commander's armour burned in the red fire that consumed her, skin and limbs sloughing to some foreign, inhuman matter. The sounds died away, leaving only the crackle and suctioned shriek vibrating through the stone, and a husk of a creature, still burning red and hot.

Hawke gained her footing as an eerie silence descended on the courtyard, unable to look away as Anders took her arm. A templar ran to their Commander, hands hovering over the glowing thing that remained.

"Now is our chance," he whispered in a hush.

The templars closed around them, and Hawke shook her head, backpedalling into the defensive circle of her friends. Beyond them, the gates of the Gallows were toppled, and only Knight-Captain Cullen blocked the path.

"Do you really want to stand in my way?" Hawke asked, eyeing him defiantly.

Expression weighted, Cullen took a few steps back, and the rest of the templars followed suit, widening their perimeter around the deadly group. Hawke kept her daggers raised as she backed towards the docks, only turning when they'd passed the gate. She put a hand on Bethany's shoulder as they made it onto a ship, kicking the mooring free. In the distant, smoke rose high from the scar of the chantry, and elsewhere across the city fires still smouldered. An unsettling quiet had settled over the city.

Clutching Orsino's staff, Bethany finally allowed herself to collapse, looking over the waters as the others paced and came to grips with their sudden flight.

"I suppose we have nowhere to go now," Merrill said, looking from her scarred hands towards Hawke.

Anders slipped his hand into Hawke's, and she looked down as he said, "None of us do."

"We can't just leave," Aveline said, strain in her words. She began to pace. "Where will we go… Donnic. He – he's with the citizenry."

"Your actions led us here – this is by your hand," Fenris said, arms crossed as he stood resolute, staring at Anders. "What will we do now?"

"I didn't think about now," Anders emptily replied, sinking down opposite Bethany. "I didn't... expect to be here."

"Marian," Aveline's furrow deepened, watching her friend.

Hawke hovered over her sister, resting a hand on her dark hair. Bethany hung her head, reddened eyes closed and voice hoarse as she whispered, "Thank you for not abandoning us. I think father would be proud."

Closing her eyes, Hawke sunk down and took Bethany into her arms. Her breath shuddered and she closed her eyes - closing them on the smouldering city growing closer by the minute. They crushed together, and Bethany's sob caught, much like her fingers did in her sister's armour.

"Come here, you hulk of an abomination you," Hawke scarce whispered, extending a hand to Anders. All eyes turned to him, and it was a moment before he rose. Letting go of her sister, Hawke stood and embraced him, lips by his ear, "We're in this together now. All three of us. You cannot keep us in the dark anymore."

Anders closed his eyes, tightening his grip on her, "I won't. I promise you."

Hawke stepped back, wiping her nose. Steadying the tremor in her voice, she put her hands on her hips and took a breath. "The city is in chaos. Everyone is still panicked... and the templars are at the Gallows. I doubt they will pursue us till morning. I'd hope for longer, but we need to be gone then." Her friends and the few mages still with them turned to her. She looked between their silent faces. "Go to your homes - or come with me if you have none - and gather any coin you can. We need to get out of Kirkwall. I - I won't lie, I don't know beyond then, but if we don't leave now, they'll find and kill us all."

Varric sighed, hanging his head and turning towards the front of the boat. They were nearing the docks.

Hawke looked down, "I didn't force any of you to stand by my decision. In the end though, you've become my family these years."

Aveline nodded, lips in a grim line.

"And I'll do anything I can to protect you. I've done anything I could to help you. And I'll die before I see any harm come your way."

Hawke waited on the boat as the mages and her friends gathered, "The Hanged Man by first light."

The last one off the boat, Hawke's shoulders hung heavy. Anders and Bethany were waiting for her. "An old hag once told me 'Without an end, there can be no peace," Hawke quietly said, wiping the grime and dried blood from her face.

"This is no end," Anders said, expression creased. "This is just the beginning."

"I know," Hawke whispered, taking both his and Bethany's hand. "But you cannot finish if you do not start."

* * *

 **Varric's Version: The Aftermath**

This is the story I don't tell - what happened after the hollow glow of Knight-Commander Meredith was left on the steps of the Gallows. When the templars dared not touch us. Kirkwall was burning, her cityscape forever changed. The only home I had ever known.

Hawke was beside me, glazed eyes mirroring my own. The wind picked up, pushing us farther away. Her eyes are dry, but there is age in them. Wrinkles that weren't there when we met, and weight in her posture. There are wounded mages behind us, and the sound of magic slowly silences them, leaving just the hush of the wind.

This is the story I don't tell, because there is no one left to listen. The Champion has lost her city but kept her heart – and we are on the run.

* * *

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** _Well I can't deny it's with a heavy heart I post the last chapter! I struggled a long time deciding if this would be the end, but realized I'm very big on having story arcs that have a defined finish! BUT take heart! I am working on a sequel, though it may be a few weeks before I start posting it, as there are plot points that I want to iron out - I want to make sure I can write a complete sequel hehe rather than just a few chapters and then run out of steam._
> 
>  _Thanks so much for reading it - I hope you enjoyed! It was honestly a blast to write it! And all your feedback & support really motivates me - and I know is one of the reasons I'm so keen on writing a Post-DA2 story about these two. I'll try to put a teaser here about the sequel before I post the new story if anyone wants to keep following Hawke & Anders heheh. _


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